


Memoirs

by CassandraRM



Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:50:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassandraRM/pseuds/CassandraRM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Delenn tells her memoirs, twenty-five years after the fact, from an alternate universe that begins during the battle against the Shadows and Vorlons at Corianna 6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Out of the storm, into the fire

Over one hundred thousand ships controlled by nearly three million crew gathered for what Sheridan, I, and Lorien intended to do at Corianna Six.

We expected—in as much as we could expect anything when doing that which was utterly without precedent—for the Shadows and Vorlons to recognize us and decide to grant our self-determination, or for them to deny us standing and kill us all. One or the other. Lorien said it expected the former. Most of us expected the latter. But if we did nothing, we would die anyway. So we tried to do what we could with what we had.

No plan survives contact with a superior enemy.

Our command staff had been scattered across nine ships to direct the battle portion of the engagement. Their orders were to fight to prove that every state would stand behind us at any cost. The fleet was to prove that point or die in the effort. Retreat was not permitted.

On White Star three, our own hands and minds were left free to do what was necessary to attract the attention of our opposite numbers among the Shadows and Vorlons, to deliver to them our message: we were no longer willing to be proxies in an ideological war fought for the glory of others.

Communications were lost with all nine command ships within seconds of both Shadow and Vorlon forces entering battle. We had hoped that was merely the result of an inopportune technical failure aboard our own ship. The ship reported itself as fully functional; Sheridan and the crew worked frantically to test systems to prove the ship wrong.

I made myself useful by remaining silent. I was not—and certainly am not—qualified act as a crew member of a warship.

Without our communications links we were almost completely ignorant of events around us. Our only information came from our ship's sensors – only bearing and spectra for every detectable object. But, short of aiming our telescopes at each contact, nothing more. We could make only educated guesses at allegiance, damage, or survivors.

Then we all heard a voice that yelled inside our heads: “Live with what you have done.” I could not tell if it was Shadow or Vorlon—I still do not know—but I could feel its contempt. Its anger. And its disgust. Aimed at Sheridan and I.

Lorien vanished from in front of our eyes.

Sheridan and I looked at each other with the expectation that we were about to die. Lorien was our only hope of surviving what we had started. Without it, we had little hope of securing the attention of the Shadows or Vorlons; and without doing that, we had no hope of doing any more than becoming the deceased refuse of a failed idea that the course of history could be changed.

The crew remained professional throughout. They knew what was at stake, but they also knew that any misstep could cost us any chance of survival, no matter how small, that we might have.

Slowly, the systems aboard ship were re-validated to the point that Sheridan would trust what the ship saw. It took much longer to accept what we saw.

Where the Vorlon ships had been there was now nothing.

Where the Shadow ships had been there was now nothing.

That would explain why we were still alive to contemplate the Universe around us.

Where the command ships had been was now only wreckage.

That alone was fifteen thousand crew. Dead. Instantly.

The utter horror of what we had survived emerged gradually.

It was an agonizing time of minutes until the ship's sensors completed a full sweep of the sky and made educated guesses to categorize all that remained.

_Where a third of our fleet had been was now only wreckage._

That is what it took for Sheridan to break his professionalism. “Dear god. What the fuck happened here?”

If any of us knew, we would be explaining it. Was what we had suffered over? Where had the First Ones gone? Would they return? Did the rest of the galaxy still exist? We could not even begin to speculate.

Gradually, the mesh network that allowed the fleet to communicate reformed itself.

Contingency plans were put into effect to determine who held rank over whom. Situation reports were taken to verify that no threats existed, to aid those that were damaged and in immediate danger, to confirm that what we had seen was what all had seen, and to tally the numbers of the dead.

In an hour we knew more than we had. Everyone here had heard the same voice in their heads. Everyone here had seen the Vorlon and Shadow fleets vanish. And everyone here agreed that a third of the forces we had brought had been reduced to debris no larger than sand.

A million dead. In an instant.

So many lives. Gone.

One death is mourned. A hundred deaths are mourned. A thousand deaths are mourned. But a million dead in one instant atrocity—the mind is not equipped to process that. The response is only numbness.

But those of us who had survived, were safe now.

I unfastened my seatbelt and put my hand on Sheridan's shoulder.

I had never before seen him look so worn down; so devastated. This was not how things were supposed to happen.

But it was the best we could do.

Sheridan looked up at me and we silently agreed that he would stay here to help the fleet reorganize.

I motioned for my aides to follow me from the command room to the hangar that was serving as our office area.

My aides and I discussed what to say to the other survivors, Minbari and otherwise. The discussion was very much dominated by fear; fear that once we were close enough to settled space to communicate with the galaxy at large that we would learn that the rest of the galaxy would be in ruins; fear that even if that the Shadows or Vorlons had vanished they would soon return to destroy what they had left. But, those were things we about which we had no control. All we could do was deal with the present that was within our sight and knowledge.

We settled on acknowledging the living and the dead, but making little comment on the future we had survived to see. Because we did not know what shape that future would take.

We prepared a short prayer to be read to the Minbari who were here, and then a statement for Sheridan and I to read to the other races.

What I said to my own kind is this: “Those who were ours will be reborn into the future they helped create, in whatever form it will take. Those who were not ours died, without suffering, in the hope that others may live. There is no higher honour. All we can do now is care for the living.”

It was not something from _Ritual and Practise_ , but there was hardly any precedent in the history of our civilization for what to say in response to what we had witnessed, and what remained for us to discover.

I took the statement we had written, for the benefit of the other races, back to the command room to show Sheridan. He was doing what he always did in times such as these: distracting himself with work. He was coordinating the salvage of the battle, ensuring that ships which were not fit to return to their home territories were evacuated; ensuring that ships which needed repairs were repaired; ensuring that ships which needed fuel were given it.

I asked him when there would be a safe pause for us to address those who had followed us into this fight and he had no answer. “I'll be finished when everyone who's still alive can make it home.”

I left him to the task that had become his calling. There are many things I wanted to say to him about the art of delegation and the importance of caring for the mind as well as the body, but it was not the time.

We all deal with grief in our own way.

I went back to the room that was my office, alone, turned down the lights, and kneeled in front of a single candle, weeping, for all of those who had followed me and had hoped for better. Had deserved better.

If the First Ones could vanish entire fleets at a thought, then we never had any chance but the one they gave us.

We were not children or even insects to them, but instead toys. Toys to be broken, put away, or preserved at their will.

Toys.

* * *

In eleven hours Sheridan informed me that what remained of the fleet was stabilized. He was exhausted. But now was the time to thank all of those who had followed us to this end.

My aides set up a video camera—I still remember; it was fixed to a heavy tripod and wired to the ship's network with an awkwardly long orange cable—for us to deliver our address:

> So many have died here today that their numbers are nearly incomprehensible. Their sacrifices must never be forgotten because their deaths were in the hope that others may not just live but live in a better future.
> 
> Do not thank us for bringing all of you to this point to do what we have done; thank those who have died for their sacrifice. There is no honour in leading others to death, but there is no higher honour than to die in the hopes that others may live.
> 
> What we will face next, as we return to our homes, is something we cannot yet know, but all that is important now, is to care for the memories of the dead and the welfare of the living.
> 
> We thank you.

It was certainly not a speech in the Human style, much less in the style of Sheridan's preference, but it was what needed to be said.

The time aboard ship was now night; Sheridan and I sat for a meal in the Human style. The food was excellent but we hardly ate more than nine mouthfuls between us.

That was the only way we could react to what had happened around us.

A million dead. In an instant.

The outcome at Corianna Six that was recorded by history is evidence that the Universe practises not its own form of hope but rather its own form of sadism.

* * *

Sheridan and I retired to the room where we both slept and established ourselves in beds that faced each other. I dimmed the lights to the minimum brightness for safety and closed my eyes. I did not expect to sleep.

“I keep running it all through my mind, Delenn. Was there anything I could have done differently? Were you and Ivanova right that Lorien was not to be trusted? Were the Bakari right that we're going to find that our homeworlds were blown to bits while we were distracted here?”

I opened my eyes and looked at Sheridan.

“This is not something we did, John. It is something that was done _to_ us. We cannot blame ourselves for being the victim of an enemy so powerful. That is something that we had no control over. No matter what we find at our homes, we did the best we could with what we had. We have no choice but to deal with that.”

Sheridan rubbed his eyes with his hands. “That doesn't make it easy to deal with.”

“I believe that was the point. We were forced to accept that we have limits, and whoever killed so many of those who followed us knew that their deaths would be painful for us. They knew how to hurt us, personally, and they did.”

I said no more. I did not want to tempt fate by pointing out that things could have been, on a personal level, far worse. The First Ones could have killed one of us in agony, in view of the other, so the other would be forced to live out a long life in anguish and grief.

I looked at Sheridan.

_Twenty years._

Killing one of us to punish the other _is_ largely what they had done. The killing had just been done before the battle. And the punishment would last, for me, for most of my life.

“Would you think less of me if I said I would execute Lorien if I could?”

Sheridan looked up at me.

I struggled to say something—anything— _other_ than what was on my mind.

“Lorien could have stopped the Shadow cycles millennia ago but chose to do nothing, until the moment you landed on it. Hundreds of billions died because it lacked the initiative to stop what was happening. Some things, deserve punishment.”

“I dunno. I don't know how much complete aliens can be judged by our standards. Hell, you and I have enough problems understanding each other and we're both flesh and blood. To whatever Lorien is—or was—or whatever, we're nothing more than bacteria. We don't consider it xenocide to take an antibiotic.”

To anyone not Human I would have said that allowing xenocide of sentient beings must be unacceptable for any being to be worthy of life; but Sheridan was Human, and to say that would have been to go far too close to places we did not go.

“That is a perspective I can see.” That was all I said.

We lay in silence for a few moments.

“I wish you folks put a double bed on these things,” Sheridan said.

“Hm?”

“Because I'd really like to go to sleep with you in my arms tonight.”

The Human habit of mixing the erotic with the comforting was something I had not yet become used to. I could have arranged something, but, in that moment, what he wanted was not what I wanted.

“Good-night, John, I love you, you who are the brightest star in my sky.”

* * *

Three days later there was nothing more to be done at Corianna Six. Those who would survive were ready to depart; those who had died were far beyond help.

Sheridan and I released the fleet components personally. Instead of speaking through interpreters, we memorized the phonetics to give the departure orders in the native language of each species' forces. It was a pointless gesture, but some cultures consider such things important, and leadership is often far more about perception than reality.

The surviving forces of the Rangers and those of my own caste were the last to leave. They would escort us back to the Babylon station, at which point the fleet would split; most would return to our home territory while others would remain as the station defence force. We did not know what the future would bring, but we were sure we did not the destruction of Babylon to be part of it.

We still had at least one enemy, in the name of Earth Alliance under the rule of President Clark, after all.

Sheridan and I were legends now, and as much victory over the Shadows meant that our lives no longer mattered to the course of history, killing us would be a victory for President Clark, cursed be his name, and his followers. And that is something neither of us wanted, not the least because it would lead to Earth dying in an an orgy of violence exceeded only by that which was the consequence for the killing of Dukhat.

* * *

From the vantage of twenty-five years later I am aware that many will be disappointed that I can offer nothing further regarding what happened at Corianna Six. But I cannot. I survived the Atrocity but I can say nothing more than what I have said and can contribute no analysis that would contribute anything of value beyond the millions of words that have already been written in the intervening years by scholars, philosophers, and dilettantes.

Lorien, the Shadows and Vorlons vanished on that day with no explanation. One million of us died. I can offer nothing further.

Some things are unknowable.

* * *

Some things became clearer once we became close enough to the developed galaxy to re-establish communications. The fact alone that there was still a Minbari extranet to connect to said much – that at least some of the populated galaxy did not lie in ruins.

At 118 bits per second—the most that could be sustained at our distance to the nearest communications relay—very short reports of status were slowly exchanged.

I was told four thousand emails awaited, from the entities that reported to me, on the homeworld and on the Babylon station.

It would take weeks for me to catch up.

And then I slowly realized that, simply having so much work outstanding meant that the home world and Babylon still existed.

Four thousand emails were no longer much of an inconvenience.

Everyone aboard ship celebrated, in a modest way. If nothing else, we would have homes to return to.

As we came closer to the communications relay, our transfer rate improved and, gradually, reports arrived of what had happened in the rest of the galaxy during the Atrocity.

We were not the only ones to witness the disappearance of the Shadows and Vorlons. The had seemingly vanished from all of populated space. Which meant, more or less, that we had won all.

Centauri Prime had been confronted with a Vorlon planet-destroyer but it, too, had vanished when the Vorlon fleet vanished from our sight. Which, I suppose, was a good thing for the Centauri.

Most of the Centauri fleet had been exterminated fighting, to no effect, against the Vorlon strike force. Which was a good thing for everyone who was not Centauri. The era of renewed Centauri expansionism would be over for decades if not longer.

Earth, seemingly, continued as it had, its leadership in complete denial of the conflict in which they had chosen the wrong side, and in complete ignorance by its population of what had happened in the past years. Their propaganda remained transfixed on the petty issue of the Babylon station's independence and on how I had 'corrupted war-hero Sheridan into becoming a traitor to the Human race.'

If one assumed, as often seemed to be the case, that the default position of Humans was to serve the interests of the Shadows then Sheridan was certainly a traitor to Humanity. And for that we must all be eternally grateful.

I told my aides I wished to hear no more of Earth unless something about them changed: I make no habit of listening to, or arguing with, noisy fools. They are better equipped at what they do and enjoy it more.

Babylon continued as it always did. My correspondence was mostly consular—visas, asylum requests, work permits, and so forth. That sort of thing I delegated to Lennier for all but the most questionable of cases.

The crews of the fleet that accompanied us began to relax, and to celebrate in less modest ways.

Ivanova, from a ship near us, congratulated Sheridan and I on a task completed.

On the home world, Dasraal and the others in the leadership of my caste extended to me their ritual congratulations on victory over the Shadows—and on my own survival. I extended to them my ritual rejection of praise by stating that all that was earned, was owed to the dead.

From my clan leader, Calenn, was only a broadcast to the women of our clan that permits for childbearing would be rationed for the next year to avoid overloading maternity facilities. Fears of a birth surge were instead wishful thinking on Calenn's behalf at best.

To say my clan leader and I had nothing in common would be an understatement.

The greetings from my personal friends were as one would expect. Mayan wrote me a poem. Masdrenn engaged in his usual habit of referring to me as 'furryhead'—something both unrelated to my hair and very unfitting for a man who was second in rank within my caste, but personal friendships among Minbari of very high rank are strange things.

Darshan, speaking—as she did in that era—only for the Workers, believed that I had done the best that was possible. She wished me well, but, with the Shadows defeated, the political alliance between our castes was also at an end.

The thick headed cowards known as the Warriors said nothing. Nothing at all.

My caste was again to stand alone against darkness.

* * *

Sheridan and I spent many hours discussing what, if anything, should be done about Z'ha'dum and Vorlon space.

Ultimately, we decided to _very_ quietly surveil the territories of the Shadows and Vorlons but to otherwise leave what was found alone unless the need arose. Not knowing the circumstances of their disappearance meant that we were deeply unsure of how much we dared do to their former (?) territories without possibly provoking them into returning in force.

Two small wings of White Stars were sent to launch probes to surveil Z'ha'dum and Vorlon space.

The probes to Vorlon space were destroyed by the Vorlon defence system.

Which told us that the Vorlons might still be active. Or might intend to return.

The probes to Z'ha'dum encountered no signs of activity.

Which told us little.

I was sorely tempted to order Z'ha'dum levelled to molten crust but decided the risks of burning what appeared to be peace were too great.

Even twenty-five years later, history has yet to be conclusive about that decision.

Bombarding Z'ha'dum may have spared us the Drakh. Or it could have released them sooner. That is something we cannot know.

* * *

In our down time, Sheridan and I planned how we were to make our returning entrance to the Babylon station. Petty in comparison to everything else that had happened, but definitely essential.

Things would have been easy if we had unequivocally won: hands waved, in the Western Human fashion, to an assembled crowd; hands taken in the way my caste announces an engagement for marriage; perhaps a quick kiss if the heart moved us; and then nothing more. Nothing said and nothing done but a quiet retreat into privacy.

If we had lost we would not have been alive to return.

But this? A victory at a price so great that it deserved no official celebration? There was no easy answer.

The dead must be recognized, but we wished for ourselves as little recognition as possible. We did what we did, but what was won, was won on the work and sacrifices of those who followed us.

We needed, also, something that could be implemented quickly. The ceremony of my caste to recognize mass death, in as much as it was suitable for a million deaths, would take eighteen days to prepare. That would be too long for the other states to wait, even assuming that they would, in that era, have any willingness to participate in a ceremony of significance to me.

Things were different then.

We also needed a ceremony which drew nothing from Sheridan's native traditions. Only mere thousands of Humans had been with us against the Shadows. The broader Human culture had aligned itself to the Shadows, and, to be blunt, deserved no recognition at all.

Ultimately, Sheridan exposed a side of himself that I never before knew existed and devised a commemoration of his own making.

* * *

We boarded the Babylon station under cover of the internal darkness of its night cycle.

The plaza inboard of immigration was deserted.

Sheridan and I kissed goodnight.

His motorcade departed for the building he called home.

I decided to walk to the embassy compound where I lived.

The streets were normally quiet at this hour, but what they were now was quite something else.

Not one person walked the streets; few lights shone in the windows of the buildings I passed; the only sound I heard, above the drone of fans and equipment, where my own footsteps and those of my guards.

I ordered my guards to break step so we did not sound like an invading army.

We reached the food district.

Not a single bar, club, cafe, or restaurant was open. Even at this hour—unheard of.

I walked to the door of the nearest cafe; one I had often frequented in other hours.

A sign, in English, graced the door:

> In recognition of the atrocity at Corianna 6 we are closed to observe two days of remembrance. We will reopen Thursday. Have a meal with someone you care about because the time you have with them will never come again. — Management.

I remember smiling when I read the last full sentence with the realization that my own words were being repeated in translation.

I walked among the establishments and saw much the same sentiments expressed elsewhere by businesses belonging to all of the races which were present on the Babylon station. It was a unified expression of grief driven by what had happened; a shared moment for all of us.

The Babylon station was not just a place but now a community bound by shared experience.

As much as the phrase began as a joke, we were all Babylonians.

I looked to the flagpole on the roof of my embassy building. Only the flag of my caste remained; with the end of our alliance, the flag of the Workers had already been brought down.

Beside my embassy the beginnings of a new foundation—for the embassy of the Workers—were being slipformed. Soon Minbar would speak with two voices.

Those of us who were here may all be Babylonians, but the list of those who were here was still fluid.

* * *

The next evening, Sheridan and I led a procession of remembrance from Embassy Row to the head of the River of Babylon. We started, carrying candles that would float, from my compound and walked spinward down the street. As we passed the embassy of each state which sent ships to Corianna Six, three representatives stepped forward to follow us.

By the time we reached the river we were 249 in number, walking silently in the evening light.

I reached the river and set my candle adrift into the current.

I recited the names of three who had been killed in the Shadow conflict: first Sheridan, then Sinclair, then the name of a member of my caste picked at random from the list of dead.

Sheridan looked at me as I recited his name; he knew well why I said it. But no one else did.

In the days that followed I was ridiculed for my choice; it was thought that I made light of those who had died permanently by grieving for Sheridan's transitory death at Z'ha'dum. But I remained silent and refused to defend myself. Sheridan did not, in that year, want his impending death known to others. It was not my place to break his wishes.

With what is now public about Sheridan's life it should not be difficult to understand why I named him first.

Sheridan followed in reciting three names as he set his candle adrift. The name of his second wife; one of the first people killed by the Shadows in a thousand years. Then the names, selected at random, of two Human dead from the ranks of the Rangers.

He had asked me if I objected to his naming of his previous lover; I told him I had no right to be offended. That we were close now did not mean that his life before we came together ceased to exist, or that it ceased to be important to him.

Lennier followed. He recited three names; how he chose them I do not know. And then I heard him whisper his own name. What he meant by that I did not know, nor did I ask. If he had wanted me to know, he would have said his own name in a normal voice.

That was the first suggestion to me that something was beginning to go wrong with the man who had been my trainee and confidant for so many years. By the end of the year I would know how wrong things had become.

Within hours the procession had finished. 747 names recited into the air. 249 points of light set afloat against the darkness.

And then all of us dispersed; most to our homes; some to seek solace in intoxication; and others to bury themselves in work.

We cleared the area quickly, so as to preserve the memory of what we had done here as one perfect moment; before the workboats of the station's staff cleared the candles from the river lest they start fires.

All is transitory.

 _All is transitory_.

* * *

The next day Sheridan and I sat for a conversation to decide what we would do next, both personally and professionally, now that the war against the Shadows was seemingly over. It was a conversation we needed but I feared; because I knew what might be coming.

“John, what do you want to do now all of this, that we have done, has come to an end?”

We were holding hands as Human nearly-weds did.

“I can't say I expected we'd live long enough to ask that question.” He idly turned our engagement band back and forth around my finger. “I want to spend the rest of the time I have left together, but where isn't something I've thought about much.”

He continued, “I like the idea of waking up to the sounds of birds singing outside, you know, without worrying that one of those birds might be a damn drone sent to blow us up. And not having to worry if that extra star in the sky is a ship that's going to bomb us. And have the kids bring us breakfast in bed a few times a year.”

I smiled, in the way that I did when I found an idea that was taboo more alluring than I should. I finally understood what Humans meant by the phrase 'early retirement.'

“You would bore yourself to death within a week.”

“But wouldn't it be nice, just for a little while?”

“As a vacation, for weeks. But not as a vocation, for years.”

Or, at least not as a vocation for me until _I_ am grey in the hair and bitter in the mind.

Even now, that is not something which nears.

“I don't know how much of a need there will be for us again—I mean, unless the Shadows or Vorlons come back, no one is going to need us to lead another galactic war any time soon.”

What Sheridan had said was very true. What we had done in the past week was change the course of history. Forever. But that was much like setting fire to the house in which we both lived. We had been put here, and brought together, for a purpose that no longer existed. And without that purpose, what use were we—and what use were any of the institutions, arrangements, and alliances we had both built to fight a war that was now over?

None that I could see.

And very likely none that any of those who stood behind me would see, either.

That was a much larger problem.

Sheridan squeezed my hand. I barely noticed. “Delenn, what's the matter?”

There was very little I could say about how what we had done might trigger events within my caste and state; in that era internal politics were not discussed with outsiders. I could not say that the presumed defeat of the Shadows meant the end of my calling, and with that, the end of what influence I had within my caste. I could not say that it was traditional for those of us who reached the end of their callings before the end of their lives to chose that moment to die. I could not say that the end of the Shadow conflict would mean the end of the tacit pact between Neroon and I that our castes would bury our differences for as long as the Shadows were active. And, I certainly could not say that I could do nothing to change any of this; until the future was decided by those above me—by those whose names Sheridan did not even know—I was no more capable of direction than the candles we had set adrift on the river a day ago.

I could only say as little as possible. And hope for the best.

“You are more correct than you know. After Valen's War, my people turned inwards and abandoned our contact with other races. Some of us even persecuted those who had brought us victory. What I say here, is that if history repeats, my positions, either as ambassador or entil'zha are by no means assured. And without my power base we are...”

“...Military governor and first lady of a rusting city of 125,000?”

“At best. I was taught to trust in the will of the Universe, John, but for the first time in my life I see no will for me to follow. You may have the retirement you want, on my homeworld, in the house I own, but it may only happen due to the reversal of almost everything I have ever worked for.”


	2. Discontent, and other emotions

Life on Babylon gradually developed a new normal in the weeks that followed the massacre of Corianna Six. For those of us who were left alive, remembrance would continue forever, but life could not remain paused.

B usinesses reopened and the social life re sumed .  The station teemed with uncountable conversations—ranging from the informally drunk to the professional and academic—those who lived here  strove to understand what we had endured.

From conversation s grew changes.

The station culture  had become different ; gone was the abject fear that bound all of us during the  w ar— that much was expected—b ut  also gone was any hint of the fascinated  exuberance of the early years  when hundreds of cultures  came together for the first time.

The new zeitgeist was an uneasy, anxious, merger of the simmering disputes from the pre-war era and from the war itself, and the new, post-war emotions of relief and survivor's guilt, coupled with a deep fear, very much like that in the pre-war era, for what the future would bring.

N one of us, from Sheridan and myself to the  uncountable  masses who were the civilization of the galaxy, were in any sense content.

We were not content because we were those that had survived while billions had died around us. Why  did others — in an abstract sense or in a personal sense of lost loved ones, lost friends, and lost species— and not us  die , many asked.

We were not content because not all had settled on an apportionment of blame for those who had died, as some perceived, unnecessarily.  Many blamed Sheridan, and to a lesser extent myself, for provoking the First Ones into destroying entire worlds.

We were not content because, with the Shadows presumptively gone, it was only a matter of time until the old hatreds that had been stayed in the face of the existential threat posed by the Shadows re-emerged and flared into violence.

W e were not content because, while the galaxy we knew survived, nothing felt finished.

We all  sought solace  from uncertainty  in what  way s we  could.

Many found solace in  corrupted forms of  religion. A n uncountable number of survivorship cults formed in the weeks following the war;  cults which bound  those who were easily led  with those  who were charismatic and felt their survival— or  the survival of  their species— was  evidence of special selection by whatever they considered sacred.

What formed around Sheridan and I differed only on the margins—and in scale—from cults that met in hired rooms or other less public places. Where one charismatic may have been revered by hundreds at most, Sheridan and I were known to all.

* * *

One predawn  morning, I went to one of the cafés I  used to  frequent for  pre- breakfast.

Where once the patrons, staff, and owner would have made smalltalk with me about trivialities, all acted as if they were in the presence of their monarch, or worse, their demigod. Their gazes converged on me and refused to diverge.

I realized that I was expected to say something;  to impart to them a  _profound_ understanding of the Universe that I no longer felt I had.  I was a work of Valen, trained to speak of prophecies that had come to an end; to serve a calling, to end the Shadow war, that was now completed.  What more was there for me to offer,  to these people, or to anyone?

I could not say 'as you were,' as S heridan would have  said  to his crew, as none of them answered to me.

I could not tell them that things were not so different that I deserved such attention.  To say that  would have been a half-truth  at best . Things  _were_ different now.

I opted to respond to those present as I would  to  those of my own caste. “Do not thank me; thank those who fought but did not survive.”

They did not look away.  I had nothing else to offer short of being rude— o r fleeing.

I opted to flee.

I told the owner that I wanted what I had ordered 'to go.'  I was offered my order without charge. I declined.  “ Y our margins are slim,  Jacqui, and  I still have an expense account.”  The owner was difficult, but I insisted.

I left as quickly as I could without  compromising dignity , then breathed a sigh of relief that, in the name of Valen, I  still  hope no one saw.

When I had been Satai  my position  commanded the attention of all  Minbari  near me; when I walked  towards a crowd it would part before me; when I entered a room all conversation would stop until I had spoken. But that was out of deference. What came before me now was reverence. And that was something completely different— something that I was far less comfortable with.

During the  Great W ar  I  built off the works of others—Sinclair, Sheridan, and my hundreds of aides and staff—to do  the best I could with what I had.  That made me a part of something far larger. I was part of a project that changed the course of history but n othing more  than that.

I imagine I know how Valen n é Sinclair must have felt  when his war was finished.

One day I will ask him.

I settled on a park bench to eat, in the early light, as I made talk with my guards.

It would not be long before the light tube would simulate a dawn and the interior of Babylon would come to life with the movements of the late risers. But until then:  for me  a moment of peace, in the  near  dark.

It was one of the last times I left my embassy compound,  or the residences I have occupied since, without a specific purpose. The  era when I could take a meandering walk simply  out of desire  had come to an end.  That, I still mourn.

* * *

S heridan and I found  some  solace in our work.

On Babylon were many thousands who had become some of the last  survivors  of their species; their  home worlds and civilizations having ceased to exist at the hands of the First Ones.  Sheridan and I did what we could for them; we met with many of them; we helped them organize; we  saw  that their immediate needs were met; and arranged for the stateless among them to be granted residency on Babylon or elsewhere.

A nd then we pushed for all states to do the same for the refugees and stateless persons within their territories.

I will relate  very  little of  what was said to us by some of the  stateless and  worldless. It would serve no purpose to relay  in detail  what was said by those who were grieving for the loss of all they had known .  It is one of the cases where grief should be private.

It is nothing hidden, however, that s ome of  the dispossessed blame Sheridan and I  for the decisions we made that escalated the Great War  into the phase where the  First Ones  exterminated entire worlds.

The logic  of their beliefs , I can understand.  When  Sheridan attack ed the Shadows at Z'ha'dum,  he gave them the excuse to  escalate the war by  exterminat ing those civilizations they saw as Vorlon servants.  T he Shadow attacks gave  the Vorlons the excuse,  in retaliation, to exterminate those civilizations they saw as  servants of the  Shadow s .

The notion that we  are at fault , I reject.  I chose my words above carefully. What Sheridan did gave the Shadows an  _excuse_ . We did not—and could not—force the Shadows to respond as they did. Nothing prevented them from halting their war and declaring a ceasefire. Nothing prevented them from  retaliating  for the bombing of their adopted (?) home by striking against only  those of us who supported Sheridan. Instead, they chose to  exterminate innocents.  Their choice, not ours.

Nor w as the structure of the Vorlon campaign controlled by us.  Nothing prevented them from acting to defend us. Indeed,  I begged—yes, begged—the Vorlon ambassador to  _protect_ us from the Shadow world destroyer fleets but it did nothing  other than cause me days of pain for my “ i m pudence .”  The strategy of the Vorlons  to kill innocents rather than protect them was of their choosing, not  of  ours.

We did the best we could with what we knew and what we had. I see no way anyone could have done better knowing what we did, then, with the resources we had, then. None of the fault that is to be apportioned, belongs on us.

* * *

Between our times of work, Sheridan and I found our solace in each other. No matter what happened around us, we would treat each other as we always had, without judgement, reverence or deference. Our time together became a mutual distraction; a distraction from how others had come to see us; and for me, a distraction from my fears for the future; of what might be happening on the home world as those above me decided the future of Minbari society. We let ourselves live in the few moments we had left together, enjoying every moment we could find.

I t was not a wise decision  to follow the path of distraction , but it was the decision that came.

The idea of completing shan'fal, and all that would follow from that, also came very naturally.

In Sheridan's eyes, seeing me without makeup meant that he had finally seen my true face. I laughed. For the first time in a long time.

The next morning, at breakfast, I explained to Sheridan how, for my caste, marriage was the dividing vertex between conducting intimacy in public and conducting intimacy in private. And then I explained a few other things.

“Among my caste, a wedding is consumated, by the couple doing as we have done, in the company of the wedding party—”

“No. No.”

“—who participate and offer guidance.”

“NO. Don't even ask.”

“Please. It would mean a great deal to me.”

“Humans don't work that way, Delenn. I can't do it.”

I was not yet ready to accept that I could not have all the way I wished it.

I let him change the subject. “You know, it wouldn't be that hard to keep your people busy long enough for you to consolidate your position. Invent a threat, shoot up a few rocks, then tell your caste leadership absolutely nothing happened in—”

I glared at Sheridan across the breakfast table. “That which is built on lies does not survive.”

“I'm kidding—I'm kidding. Please stop looking at me like you're about to rip my soul apart with your bare hands.”

I still do not believe he was joking.

Valen help him if he had tried to manipulate my caste, because if Dasraal did not order him disemboweled for it I would have done so myself. Isolation from others had brought Sheridan and I closer, but loyalty to caste is still stronger than the whims of heart.

* * *

It was not long before my attention was violently drawn to things I should have prioritized over my own pleasure and comfort.

From the home world came rumors. Rumors of violence by the Warriors. Bombings. Temples belonging to my caste—that had stood for thousands of years—reduced to rubble in seconds. Rumors that our senior leaders had been driven into hiding. Whispers of riots targeting my caste.

But there was no news. Just talk, shared quietly among Minbari, in the dark.

That was the way things were. That which was unofficial spread far faster than that which was sanctioned.

I spent many nights sleepless, hoping that the rumors were baseless, but very much aware that was no longer realistic.

The Peace of Valen was collapsing.

The thousand years of cooperation between the clans, brought by Valen and continued through my caste's embodiment of his wisdom, was retreating into a memory rather than a reality.

This was what I had dreaded. When I had foiled Neroon's attempt to prevent me from becoming entil'zha, we reached an informal consensus that the differences between our castes would be ignored until the Shadow war was concluded. With the end of the war, that consensus now lay in as many pieces as the rubble that had been our temples.

Many days have gone by where I have wondered how many lives I could have saved if I had seen the warnings of was beginning before it had started. But I was far too transfixed on matters trivial and personal to notice. That is a mistake I will never forgive myself for—not until my soul is burned by the fires of the Universe dying its own death.

Twelve days after the first rumors reached Babylon, the first official news reached me.

The Warriors were seeking to seize power by becoming violent towards our caste.

They saw no value in the leadership exercised by my caste, and especially not in the policies Dasraal, I, and Masdrenn had pursued in the past decade and a half. The fact that our policies had brought all of us—including the Warriors—survival against the Shadows was not relevant to them. All they saw were the thousand years of what they perceived as slights; events when we had forced them to do what was right rather than what was easy.

It took a certain level of unspeakable arrogance to not see the pattern of a thousand years and realize the need for self-improvement. But that was the nature of the Warriors: ignorant, arrogant, cowardly, violent, thick-headed fools.

To be forced to share our worlds with them was yet more evidence that the Universe practised its own form of sadism.

And that sharing had lead to violence. The rumors had been correct. My caste-mates had been attacked in the streets and hundreds been killed. Our buildings and monuments had been attacked and burned by Warrior mobs. Our leaders had been driven into hiding.

For the moment, I took some solace in the understanding that the Agreement of Civilization was still in force. Both castes were fighting with arms that could be carried—with the exclusion of nuclear weaponry—rather than with weapons we could drive, control, or fly. As long as that held, our species would endure. A civil war fought with hand weapons can be survived. A civil war fought with nuclear weapons, starships, and RKKVs is terminal.

I had heard—although unofficially—that Dasraal had made overtures for peace and offers of negotiations but Shakiri had refused to even guarantee Dasraal a meeting in safety.

Had Dasraal and I been Human I would have pressed him to explain what had been done to resolve the conflict. But we were not, and that was not our way. I trusted in the decisions of my caste leader, because that is what was expected of me. For that moment.

Many days have gone by where I have wondered how many lives I could have saved if I had forced the issue sooner.

Where the Universe moved from here, was something not even Valen né Sinclair could predict. His prophecies were at their conclusion and could give us no aid. My caste stood alone in a way that we had not for over a thousand years.

All we could do was improvise as best we could.

Many of my staff requested leaves of absence to return to their home cities. Motives were unspoken and unasked; but both I and those who requested to leave knew they were leaving to fight.

It was not long until all I had left were those I could not spare.

Then the violence came to Babylon.


	3. All is transitory

On an early morning I was dressing to lead the first ceremonies of the day at our temple, for the benefit of the Workers and those of my caste who remained on Babylon.

I picked from my closet a green outer robe: complementary to my main robe and suitable for both the day's mood and the prayer I intended to give.

Lennier walked into my room, no more quickly than he usually did, but he would not be here, now, if something serious had not happened.

“There has been a bombing at the temple.”

I draped the outer robe over the back of a chair. Whatever I would be doing today that might require formal dress, I would not be doing it immediately.

It was too early in the morning for the temple to be occupied; no deaths were likely. However, an hour later and it would have been very full. And I would have been there—as possibly a victim of the bombing.

No.

If anyone had wanted me harmed the bombing would have been set for when I was present. The purpose of this attack must have been to send the message to me that I was vulnerable—that I _could_ be killed at the  whim of another.

“No deaths, I presume?”

“No; the building must have been empty. I had not yet unlocked the doors.”

Good.

“How severe is the damage?”

Hesitantly, Lennier handed me his tablet.

It took me a few moments to recognize that the picture I saw of a pile of broken concrete, shattered glass, and twisted steel was a picture of all that remained of the temple building.

“In Valen's name.”

Our temple on Babylon was—had been—very young, but it had been host to thousands of ceremonies; from the trivial of daily prayers to the significant of remembrances for the dead at Corianna Six; of the ceremony of rebirth for the station after Sheridan had declared independence; of namings of new children; of joinings in marriage; of many moments of personal importance between Sheridan and I; and it was the place where we had intended to marry.

All of that history, reduced to no more than distant memories.

All of that promise for the future, denied.

“To whom may we extend thanks for this insult?”

I returned Lennier's tablet to him.

It would not have been easy to smuggle enough explosives through station security to reduce the nine-floor building to a pile of rubble. That left few candidates with both the means and motive. EarthForce was one candidate. Given what was happening in our own territory, the Warrior caste was another. Had I known, then, of the Drakh, I would have also suspected them. But for that moment, I let my mind remain without any specific suspicion—the facts were to lead where they may.

“The police have no suspects. The investigation is ongoing.”

“Liaise closely with Mr. Garibaldi on this. Do not allow his...views” regarding Minbari “to impair the work of his people. Challenge him regarding what lapses in his own procedures allowed explosives to be imported.”

“Of course.”

I put on my outer robe and fastened it at my waist. “As for today, arrange for the morning prayers to be streamed from the communications room.”

My phone rang; it was Sheridan. Lennier nodded, to acknowledge my instructions, and silently left the room to give me space with my fiancé. Sheridan and I said what those who were nearly married would say in such circumstances; there is no need to be more specific.

Next call. My security supervisor, Satlenn, recommended to me that I remain inside the embassy until more was known about who had attacked our temple and their motives—because I might be their next target. I thanked him for his abundance of caution and told him that remaining in my embassy is what I would be doing anyway. I then advised him to increase security around the compound and raise the official hazard level for Minbari on the station; he thanked me for my abundance of caution and told me that is what _he_ would be doing anyway.

I made a call to my contracts supervisor, and told her to publish RFPs for site cleanup and reconstruction as soon as possible. She told me that is what she would be arranging for anyway, because none of us were about to be intimidated that easily.

It is always good to work with people who are such a close match that communication is hardly necessary.

* * *

Within the same day, the Babylon judge issued an arrest warrant for three non-resident Warriors 'suspected' in the bombing. Given the sensor data showing them at the site of what had been our temple, the term 'suspected' was only a legal convenience. Given their subsequent convictions, there is no need for me, now, to refer to them as anything other than guilty.

The Warriors were skilled at infiltration and demolition, but exfiltration from Babylon was a rather different matter. The techniques for escape that might have worked on our worlds did not work here. Babylon was different: it was both a panopticon and a united community. Those who did not belong here would be quickly identified as soon as the need to do so became known: there was nowhere to hide where every cubic millimetre was observed by sensors and all sentient eyes would report what they saw when asked.

By the next dawn, the three Warriors were trapped by the police and violently arrested.

Humans armed with electroshock guns and firearms will readily defeat thick headed fools armed with metal sticks.

Those who do not adapt to change suffer for it.

* * *

The day of the arrests, Sheridan came to visit my embassy for lunch—which is to say that I was very informally questioned. Which was unsurprising, as he had utterly no context within which to make sense of the actions of the Warriors.

“You are being awfully quiet about all of this.”

“That is because I have very few answers” to give to an outsider.

“I don't think any of this looks very good,” he said. “Most of your own caste have left and now we've got members of the Warrior caste blowing up your buildings. If your people had Human motivations—”

“We do not.”

“Yes, but _if_ , then it looks an awful lot like your caste-mates had some warning that something bad was going to happen here and got out of dodge—sorry, went home—before it did.”

When it came to Minbari, Sheridan had an unfortunate habit of adding three plus three and making nine. My caste-mates, after all, were running towards unrest, not fleeing it.

“I didn't raise the hazard level for my people here until after the bombing,” I said. It was the most subtle way I could tell Sheridan that he was wrong.

Sheridan made a confused expression. “Then...a few thousand of your people up and left...?”

I was evasive. “I have no more desire to see this place where I live exploded than you do.”

“Delenn,” he sighed. “I trust you'd tell me if you knew in advance someone was going to start setting off bombs on our station, but—have I told you lately that you're a real pain to get anything out of?”

I reached across the table and took Sheridan's hand. “You know we do not discuss most things with non-citizens. I have said what I can. If you push me I will continue to give you diplomatic answers but the full truth is that all I can tell you is that I cannot tell you. Please, John, respect that.”

* * *

Other Minbari business continued on Babylon as the bombing crisis unfolded. The Worker embassy had been completed and a Worker ambassador, Lesesh, had arrived to represent their interests here.

It was an odd thing for me, to have a permanent reminder, next door to my embassy, that I now spoke for less than one third of all Minbari.

It was an odd thing for the others on the station, to remember to refer to me only as the ambassador of the Religious caste.

It was an odd thing for Sheridan, to hear a Minbari male—born in the same city as I was—speaking with the same accent as I do.

It was a very odd thing for Lesesh, to be party to a reception of ambassadors, where he was semi-formally greeted into the Babylon project, where our species was in the minority.

But we all dealt with our discomforts – because we all had our roles to perform.

* * *

Once the Warrior temple-bombers had recovered enough from their arrests to be questioned, I sent Lennier, with aides of his choosing, to interrogate them. In an earlier era I would have interrogated the Warriors personally. But I had matured enough to appreciate the virtues—such as not falling behind on my routine work—of delegating to such matters to others.

A few hours later, Lennier returned from his tasking. He looked very much closer to death—in a metaphorical sense—than I had seen him in several months.

“We extracted nothing. Except—they tried to recruit us, Delenn. To kill you.”

I clasped my hands together and held them tightly against my chest, in search for physical comfort from myself. I now utterly lacked all doubt that all of this would end badly.

“Recruit—how?”

If the Warriors sought my death then Minbari civilization was on the verge of something catastrophic. If I were to be killed then with that would come an escalation of the current unrest into open war as my friends, disciples, followers, and subordinates—to say nothing of Sheridan—abandoned the Agreement of Civilization and took their revenge against the Warriors using whatever they had available from knives to starships. It would not take much time before the inferno consumed not only the Minbari population on Babylon but our entire civilization.

That the thick headed fools known as Warriors either did not see the risk for this outcome or, perhaps, _sought_ it was incomprehensible. It was to wish the creation of death on a scale that had seemed—until now—unimaginably irresponsible even for them.

“Promises of money for my staff. Promises of power for me,” Lennier said.

“Your response?”

“I will never harm you, of course. I would have broken three Warrior necks if not for the difficulty of escaping without the Humans noticing.”

That was the sort of response I utterly agreed with, in mind, body and soul, but dared not admit then—because admitting it, then, would undermine everything I had struggled to make myself and our caste into.

To be civilized is to ignore our baser instincts in favour of doing what is right. To internalize this is what makes the difference between my caste and that of the Warriors. And it is also the difference between us and far too many Earthers.

The punishment for crimes—and attempting to entice another to murder is a crime—was not, uncivilized instincts not withstanding, summary execution. Crimes had their appropriate punishment, decided through appropriate means.

The appropriate means of decision was through agreement, or arbitration, between my clan and the clans of the accused. For that to be done, however, I was required to report to the leader of my clan what had been done against me. Which I would have done promptly, and willingly, if I had any faith in the virtue of the man who led the clan of my birth. Which I did not. And do not. But, obligations take priority over preferences and I was obligated to extend to Calenn some degree of cooperation.

I went back to my work, to wait until it was well into sleeping hours in the time zone where Calenn lived before calling him. Waiting to be sure I would wake him was the sort of petty slight that many might consider beneath me, but cooperation does not require politeness.

Calenn—once he was fully awake—was ecstatic. “Our clan and caste have been gifted the justification to make the Warriors understand that we are not to be challenged. Will you willingly stand behind me, Delenn, to do to the Warriors what you did to the Shadows?”

We had hardly agreed on much in the past, but him calling on me to participate in destroying what Valen had built—made him irredeemable.

“Did what to the Shadows, precisely? Lead us to barely surviving their onslaught? I do not feel that is what you were thinking of. No, I will not join you willingly. My conscience will not allow it.”

“I am disappointed in you,” Calenn replied. “No, I am disgusted—that you are so consumed with your own childish ideas of virtue that you will not help your own kind.”

“I will help our kind, however you define that to be, by not leading more of us to our deaths.”

I hung up.

The Warrior conspiracy to turn my aides against me would go unpunished. Some refusals had their price.

In Valen's name, our civilization was on the verge of doing to itself what the Shadows had failed to do to us.

What were we anymore?

* * *

The next morning, the body of the man—Naaell—who had been the senior Warrior on Babylon was found lying in a drainage ditch with his throat slit in three precisely equispaced places.

To the Humans investigating the death, there was nothing significant about the way the Warrior was killed.

To Minbari, three is a very sacred number even in killing. The killing must have been committed by one of us—not only one of our species, but one of my caste. The Warriors would not have killed one of their own. The Workers had no motive—and, if they had killed, they would have been even less subtle. Only those of my own caste would have motive: to take revenge for the temple bombing.

I did not yet consider the possibility that one of my own staff could have killed for other, much uglier, reasons. That was not who I believed we were.

The killing was something I would have tried desperately to prevent had I known of it in advance. Aside from the unnecessary pain of the loss of a life—a Warrior life, but a life none the less—the killing would make much more difficult relations between the castes on Babylon, and that served no purpose I agreed with.

The investigation I left mostly to the station police, as they had formal authority here, but I did have jurisdiction over my aides—all of whom had immunity from local prosecution—and saw that they were questioned internally. Lennier, out of an absolute abundance of caution, I questioned myself.

“I presume you know nothing of this, Lennier?”

“I do not.”

“Then my faith in you is undamaged.”

I was on the moment of dismissing Lennier but instinct prompted me to ask one more question: “How much faith do you extend to the others who knew of the plot to turn you against me?”

Lennier hesitated.

“Less than you place in me.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room as we both realized that we were both thinking the unthinkable.

His wisdom brought him to see through our taboos to know precisely what I meant.

Had Lennier lived the length of life he deserved, I have no doubt that he would have lived to reach greatness.

* * *

The Human officers who governed Babylon were inquisitive, in a suspicious way, about Naaell's death and what it meant for relations between my caste and the Warriors on the station. Whenever I or my employees spoke with any of the officers, they would always have at least one new question about what was happening behind the veil beyond which outsiders were not informed. It did not take long for my counter-intelligence unit to realize that the questions were part of a coordinated effort at espionage.

Under other circumstances I would have smiled at the realization that Sheridan—and I did know it was Sheridan—would think of such a Minbari way of doing things, to extract from us information that we would not normally reveal. But the Universe had, lately, given me very little desire to smile.

“Very good, John, but do not do that again. You have kept my counter-intelligence workers far too busy inventing responses for your officers to—how shall I phrase this—swallow.”

It was the closest I ever came to being overtly rude to him.

* * *

When the station police arrested a member of my staff as their main suspect in the killing of Naaell, even the Humans recognized that something had gone very wrong in my civilization. When the suspect was identified by Lennier as one of the few who knew of the plot to turn him against me, the situation began, for me, to take on hues of being even worse than the Humans suspected.

I was losing control over my staff.

What bloodshed the Warriors had not started on Babylon, my own staff had. The Warriors had destroyed a building and said conspiratorial words they should have not. Someone on my staff had killed a Warrior of moderate rank.

There was an enormous difference.

There are far too many leaders who would be flattered to have followers who would kill for them without needing to be asked; without creating the evidentiary trail that would come with _needing_ to be asked. Lack of accountability appeals to far too many. I am not one of them.

If I wish someone killed I will order it done. Because the risks of such things going badly are so great that no one else may be trusted to make that decision. And, because such decisions belong on my conscience and mine alone.

I summarily fired the one suspected of killing Naaell. That was a formality. What would follow was not. Because the ground on which we now walked was without any map.

The murderer would say nothing to the station police. That much was expected. Outsiders were not to be involved.

I sent Lennier to have his own attempt.

“He answered every question I asked,” Lennier told me. “He killed Naaell to avenge the attempt to turn me against you. Given your caste's refusal to request that the Warrior bombers be punished for that, he did not believe you would take steps to protect yourself, in a way he thought suitable, so he sought to remove the danger himself by killing the man he believed ordered the plot against you.”

I looked at the floor, in shame.

Anyone in the position the murderer formerly held should have known that the corpse the Warriors would demand, one way or the other, in exchange for the loss of their leader on Babylon would be that of the leader of my caste on Babylon. Which is to say, my own.

“What have I done so badly in guiding all of those who report to me, that any of you would think so poorly?”

There was no proof Naaell had even ordered the bombing of our temple, much less ordered the bombers to entice Lennier. The bombers were not station residents and not likely ever part of his scope of authority. All of this was knowable to anyone who could read a Human newspaper, much less anyone within my own staff.

“There are thirteen-hundred of us, Delenn. You cannot hold yourself responsible for all of us.”

Nor was my life ever in danger. There was never any reason to imagine that Lennier or those he took with him to interrogate the bombers would ever turn against me. Lennier's loyalty to me, and mine to him, was built by bonds that could never be broken by others. Never.

The murderous fool had brought about the very conditions where my life was in danger that he had sought to prevent.

He had wasted a promising career for less than nothing.

And he came critically close to starting an open war between my caste and the Warriors for nothing.

Fool.

Ignorant fool.

I became aware that Lennier had said my name.

“Forgive me, I was distracted. I do hold myself responsible for all of you,” I said. “You were all selected and trained to serve the values I hold important, and I am responsible for you just as I am responsible for my own hands and feet.”

Lennier began to speak.

“No. That is something I will not debate,” I said.

* * *

I gathered my aides and senior staff to verbally distribute orders I dared not put in writing in fear of the orders being leaked and the gravity of my situation—as one without control over her subordinates—becoming known to those who may be tempted to take their own advantage of it.

These instructions are to be distributed to all of my employees without trace. Do this as you see fit.

Whatever happens on our home worlds, Babylon must remain different. We are all here to present the best face of our civilization to outsiders. Our best face is not one of revenge killings leading to revenge killings leading to mutual destruction.

Most of you are guests here, subject to the laws of the station. Those laws restrict the legitimate use of force to the station police and judicial system. They do not allow for killing for any purpose other than immediate self defence or the immediate protection of others against violence.

It is not your place to take revenge on the Warriors for what they do here. Until the moment I give orders otherwise, what the Warriors do is a matter for the station judicial system. What any of you do to the Warriors without my direction is also a matter for the station judicial system.

Expect nothing to be done to save those who act otherwise.

Those who reject what I say are free to leave my employ, in disgrace, to return to their homes to act as their clans and consciences dictate.

And then I had to have faith that my instructions were distributed accurately to all of my staff. And that they would be followed.

Faith did not come easily.

I drew up mental lists of those staff I trusted and those I did not. So many of them had served with me for so long that judging them was like trying to decide which of my children I love more. But it had to be done: because those who were untrustworthy must not be in positions capable of causing damage to others.

I decided that a few tens of people needed to be quietly reassigned.

Perhaps I had become spoilt by the company I had kept. Lennier. Draal. Dukhat. Valen before he was Valen. Sheridan. All of them remarkable. Perhaps it was too much to expect from those whose paths did not lead to greatness, that they at least not cause catastrophes.

In Valen's name, what was I becoming, to imagine so many of my own people to be irredeemable?

And if those I had chosen to serve me were irredeemable, then what did that say about me?

* * *

The evening following the arrest of Naaell's killer was date night for myself and Sheridan. Few greater juxtapositions have I known.

We both pretended the best we could that nothing was wrong.

We sat in Sheridan's livingroom, doing the sort of things that we normally did. I lost to him at chess, badly, but I cannot say that improved his mood. Nor can I say that I was good company.

The mask of normalcy eventually eroded for both of us. Some things were too difficult to hide. “Naaell's killing looks an awful lot like revenge to me,” Sheridan said. “The suspect got angry at your temple being blown up and decided to tear Naaell's throat out for it.”

I said nothing. Sometimes, with regard to Minbari, Sheridan did add three plus three and make six. But he did not know of the other three needed to make nine.

“What I'm wondering is who the Warriors will want to kill for their revenge,” he said.

I still said nothing. There was nothing to be said.

“Damn it, Delenn, enough. You've been evasive ever since the bombing and I'm fed up with it. All I want is to know is enough so I can make sure I won't get a call one day saying you've been stabbed again, had your throat slit, been decapitated, been burned alive, or whatever the Hell else it is that your people are going to do to each other now that 'Minbari do not kill Minbari' isn't good enough anymore.”

Sheridan knowing anything more would do nothing to improve my safety, but that is not what he needed to hear, nor was an argument something I wanted. I offered the few reassurances I could, and hoped they would be enough.

“I will be careful. For both of us.”

I remember that I did that which he did not expect. I kissed him on the cheek—to hide the fact that I was tearing up. My world as I knew it was falling apart from underneath me and the one person who would stand closest beside me throughout almost anything was the only person I was not permitted to bring towards me.

The Universe practises its own form of sadism.

Or perhaps I practise my own form of masochism.

_Twenty years of bliss. One hundred-_ _twenty_ _of mourning._

* * *

I slept uneasily that night. My dreams took me to the times I had come close to death. When Dasraal had nearly decapitated me to demonstrate a point about the EarthForce attack that had killed Dukhat. When I had walked into a knife thrown by an EarthForce loyalist to save Sheridan's life. At Corianna Six. With Sheridan on the White Stars as we gathered intelligence on the Shadows. When I had nearly killed Valen né Sinclair during the first battle for Earth. When I had begged Ulkesh Kosh to defend us against the Shadow world destroyers. When I was tortured by Sebastian. When I had explored the fabric of the Universe to seek guidance to end the first war against Earth.

Any day could bring the next opportunity for the Universe to reclaim my soul for rebirth; to make the next encounter with death a permanent one rather than another narrow escape.

I woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat.

With Naaell killed by one of my own, vengeance by the Warriors may well involve my death, and with that a spiral into violence that would destroy our civilization.

When I returned to sleep I dreamt of burning and ruined cities.

Our own.


	4. Acts of Imbalance

For days I immersed myself in the political history of Minbari before the era of Valen; in our wars; in how our wars ended; and in the rituals associated with both. It had been many years since I had studied such things. Knowledge of those times was not something I ever expected to need in my professional life. None of us, save for the historians, ever expected to need it.

Some things we  always expected to  be history.

Some  history  refuse s to  avoid repetition into the present.

I could do nothing but hope for the best between our castes on our worlds, but I did have much control over Babylon, and I could work to prevent something from happening—to my body—here that would trigger wider war elsewhere.

My aides and their Warrior opposites arranged for a meeting between myself and the senior surviving Warrior on Babylon.

No breakthroughs would come from the meeting, but it was still necessary. It was necessary to determine the Warrior position. It was necessary to at least try to give the Warriors on Babylon a chance to come to a peaceful settlement. Species solidarity demanded that the Warriors be given at least the chance to improve themselves voluntarily.

The Warrior leader and I would meet in a neutral conference room, owned by the Humans, and usually used for business negotiations. It was agreed that each side would meet without aides and with three guards each. It was not a prescription for progress.

I walked from my embassy to the conference center, escorted by three guards and followed by three armed Ranger drones which hovered thirty meters overhead.

It was made known that the drone operators had been ordered to kill suspected threats without warning.

The Warrior delegation arrived in an ordinary car.

The agreement between my caste and the Warriors detailed how we would meet. It said nothing about how we would arrive or depart.

* * *

I walked into the conference center, to the room where we were to meet, and stood at my assigned side of an all too opulent—in the Human style—boardroom table. My Warrior counterpart did the same, at his assigned side.

It was not normal to conduct Minbari business in a non-Minbari place. Strange times called for strange responses.

At least we did not sit, as Humans did, to speak. Even in strange times, some things did not change.

I offered pleasantries.

They were not returned.

“I extend condolences for Naaell's death,” I said. “It was not something I ordered.”

“I believe you. But only because if you had ordered his killing, you would not have been oblivious enough to send one of your own staff to kill him.”

“It pleases me that we can agree on that. I hope we can agree on more.”

“That depends on what you expect me to agree to.”

“I would like you to agree that the streets and streams of Babylon should not run red with the blood of your caste members and mine.”

“Ah, yes, we should surrender, in the name of peace, after we have lost our leader but you have lost one building.”

I sighed, inwardly. I had expected nothing, but for it to be given to me still caused frustration. As much was to be expected when dealing with thick headed intransigents. That is the way things had always been.

“Then how do you wish this to end? With a cycle of violence that ends only with mutual slaughter?”

“I follow orders. A concept you are unfamiliar with.”

“Do your orders permit you to consider the killing of Naaell a crime rather than a provocation of your caste?”

“Good day, ambassador.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. It had been expected that the Warriors would treat Naaell's death as a provocation, but to hear it was still something that terrified.

The Warriors and my caste had been part of one state—one civilization—once, but now, all the Warriors sought, implied in their words, was my killing in retaliation for something I did not condone or order.

All that we once were was was now gone; burned to nothing more than ash.

In Valen's name, what would become of us?

* * *

When I returned to my embassy I briefed my aides on my meeting with the Warrior leader. Then a decision was needed: give more to the Warriors in hope of preserving the peace, or take from them the option to escalate to war.

The only thing they would likely accept in exchange for peace would be my own life. That is not something I could allow them to take. I refused to live in personal terror of a shot, or bomb, that could end my life at any moment. I refused to subject my species to the risk that my killing would lead to an escalation to war that would _end_ Minbari history.

I have always refused to live in terror.

If I wished to give the Warriors anything, I could have voluntarily ended my life. My death would rebalance the relations between the castes on Babylon, presumably allow for peace here and remove the risk of escalation, though my killing, elsewhere. With the end of the Great War my calling _was_ over. It would have been a natural point for me to reach the end of my life, to be reborn into a new life with a new calling, but nothing about that choice felt proper. I had an overwhelming feeling of unfinished business; that the Universe still expected more from me; that it was not yet time for my soul to move forward. These would have been foreign thoughts before the Great War, but the war had changed all things—for me just as much as anyone.

I decided to deny the Warriors the potential for escalation that they appeared to desire so desperately. Enough Minbari had died in the Great War. I could not—should not—risk the deaths of any more.

Under tradition, denying the Warriors the ability to escalate would have meant exterminating them from Babylon. There were only three hundred Warriors to dispose of. Even after most of my caste had returned to home territory to fight the Warriors there, we still handily outnumbered them here. We were also far more heavily armed and could trivially import weapons. But, exterminating the Warriors would be illegal under the terms of the Babylon Treaty—mass murder if nothing worse—and would mean destroying the reputation I had carefully built for my caste as a civilized actor. If we could be no better than the Centauri, or the worst of Humanity, then we were nothing.

My instruction to my aides: manufacture a solution that did not make us appear to be savages. Minbari problems were to be solved in Minbari ways, but not when in view of outsiders.

My aides returned to me with a plan: deport the Warriors, all of them, from Babylon.

After the breaking of the Grey Council and, with it, the dissolution of the first Minbari Federation, the Warriors had chosen not to sign the Babylon Treaty as one of the successor states to the Federation. The Warriors never believed in the Babylon Project and had refused to be formally represented here. Those Warriors who were on the station, were on the station as visitors, with all of the legal insecurities that implied.

Which is to say that Sheridan, in being the station government, could deport the Warriors whenever he wanted. Or whenever he was persuaded that he wanted to do so.

But.

Involving outsiders in Minbari internal matters would have unpredictable ramifications. Ten thousand years of tradition said such things were not to be done. Not withstanding that Babylon was a unique location where some of us lived but had minimal sovereignty; where there were collective rules against violence that the Warriors were willing to disregard; and where there were agreed, collective, ways to deal with such refusals, any precedent I set here could cast long shadows onto the future.

But where the future went, was something for the future itself to resolve. We lived in the present, faced the challenges of the present, and could do no better in the present.

It was decided that Sheridan would be persuaded to deport all 322 members of the Warrior caste from Babylon.

Then my aides and I went to work, to turn our high-level goal into a plan that we would all survive.

Those who imagine political leadership to be leaps of genius implemented trivially, instead of days of planning conducted in the most minute detail, have little experience with the reality of it.

* * *

I arranged for a series of appointments, first with Sheridan, then with the other ambassadors who were party to the Babylon Defense Pact. The first appointment would lead to the need for the second.

And then I spent some time considering how to tell Sheridan what he needed to know, in such a way that he would not be led to doing something against the Warriors that he would later live to regret. There are few ways to tell a romantic partner that one is at risk of violent death, without that partner having uncivilized impulses.

It was one of the times that I found it unfortunate that I had no close Human confidants from which to seek advice; my earlier choices had destroyed those bridges—with Ivanova and others—and all I could do now was to try the best I could with what I knew.

* * *

I met with Sheridan in his office. The request I was about to make was not the sort of thing that was appropriate to discuss over the breakfast table.

“John, I need something important.”

“Name it.”

“I need you to deport every member of the Warrior caste from the station. And deny entry to all Warriors in the future.”

“Jesus.”

I said nothing.

“That's three-hundred people, Delenn. I need a very good reason.”

I took a small breath and hoped that my understanding of Sheridan's thinking was sufficient to guide him such that unnecessary violence between his people and the Warriors would be avoided.

“They will not commit to allowing the killing of Naaell to be resolved judicially.”

Sheridan grimaced. I took that to mean he understood the seriousness of at least some of what he was being drawn into.

“I take it that's your elliptical way of saying that they might blow more of the station—or at least your parts of it—up?”

“You would be correct in all the ways that matter.”

Sheridan stood from his chair and paced around his office like a caged animal. “Is this the best option you have? Deportation, I mean? I'll be giving your warrior caste another reason to gun for my head. I'll be setting one hell of an ugly precedent that we'll do ethnic cleansing against a culture's people here because of crimes they might commit—god knows where any of this will end. It's not right.”

I remained in my chair and tracked his movements with my eyes alone. “I would not ask if there was any better alternative.”

“What about arresting their leadership for criminal conspiracy?”

“I do not think it more...humane...to permanently jail them rather than sending them to live their lives elsewhere. If the Warriors are sent back to their own territory they will pose no threat to Babylon. For the moment, that is the only thing which matters.”

“You want all of them gone, even the families? Even the kids?”

“No favours would be done to children left behind without their parents.”

“What if I deport the top—say—fifteen of their leaders—to send a message—and see if the rest of them will learn anything?”

If the Warriors could ever be made to learn anything then none of this would have been necessary. But that, then, was not for Humans.

“Then whoever is left will follow the same orders—from their caste leadership off-station—that were given to the current leadership on Babylon. All that will change is that you will also be considered an enemy of the Warriors which remain.”

“And if I try to throw all of them out and they show up with a few hundred starships—”

“That is not probable—” provided the Agreement of Civilization held and the Warriors continued to see Babylon as a partly Minbari place.

“But if it happens?”

“That, my caste will deal with.”

Sheridan shrugged, seeming with uncomfortable resignation. “I still don't like this.”

It was not necessary for him to like it. Just for him to do it.

“What's going on here that you're not telling me about?”

“Do not get involved in this more than I ask, John. The Warriors must be removed for the security of the station, but all else is not a Human concern.”

“I really don't like it when you stonewall me, Delenn, but I know you're not going to budge, are you?”

“I will not. Not on my request, and not on the underlying reasons.”

The irony that Sheridan would be all too keen to deport, or even execute, the Warriors had he known that my life was at stake was not lost. But I did not—could not—trust his restraint to hold in the event he knew the full truth.

The Universe practises its own form of sadism.

“Alright,” he said, “if we need to do this, will you at least tell me how to do it so I won't find a Warrior nuke in my desk the day afterwards?”

That, I could do.

Over several tens of minutes I explained to Sheridan how to execute what was necessary with the minimum risk of violence—the specifics are not for public consumption even now.

What I directed made little sense to him; that much was unsurprising. The Warriors make little sense to anyone. But that does not mean their beliefs cannot be used to control them, in much the same way a leash can be used to control an animal.

* * *

I gave Sheridan the space to tell his officers what would be done on Babylon, then returned to him so we could tell the representatives of the parties to the Babylon Defense Pact what would be done on and near the station.

We explained that the Warriors had, in the wake of the killing of Naaell, refused to agree to abide by the rule of law on the station.

“That's where I'm going to draw the line,” Sheridan said. “The purpose of Babylon was to create peace, and people who want to go around setting off bombs don't belong here. So, when the next ferry flight to Minbar gets here, they're all going to be on it.”

Within the station, the worst case scenario would be something of a repeat of the hours of terror, in the wake of Sheridan's declaration of independence, when sixty EarthForce loyalists burned Sheridan's first official residence to the foundation, reduced two hospitals to rubble, tried to destroy my embassy with ninety mortar shells, took thousands hostage, and killed over a hundred people. A repeat of that could be put down, by the Rangers and Garibaldi's police, without outside help. The first incident had given us experience, and EarthForce was far more adept at infantry combat than the Warriors ever would be.

Outside the station, the worst case would be a Warrior caste strike force sent to destroy Babylon. That, Sheridan did want help with, “because I don't want to rely on the Warrior caste's good nature and sense of fair play to avoid getting my ass kicked.”

I was uncomfortably silent—not out of objection to his condemnation of the Warriors, but out of objection to his lack of professionalism.

Human relationships meant accepting some bad with the good. But his habits in formal meetings were much worse than bad.

“The Worker position remains,” the Worker ambassador, Lesesh, said, “that the safety of the Babylon station is one of our essential interests. The Warriors are aware of this. If they choose to attack the station while we have representation here—and we have no intention of withdrawing our representation here—it will be an act of war against us and will be dealt with as such. It is not in their interests to challenge my caste and they will not do so.”

“I don't know anything about Minbari internal politics—”

“Nor should you.”

“—but I'd rather have enough backup up close to keep your Warrior caste from getting any dumb ideas in the first place.”

“If that is your wish,” Lesesh sighed, “then we can spare, perhaps, thirty ships. But realize that you are still depending on deterrence to prevent the Warriors from using local superiority to overwhelm our forces.”

It was decided that the other parties to the Babylon Defense Pact would match the Worker contributions, both in words and ships. Babylon was vital to all of us and it would be defended as such.

Sheridan was satisfied that the station's tactical position was adequate.

After the meeting, Lesesh privately wrote to me “from your reports I was under the impression that your Human was smarter.”

Sheridan had his strengths, but they were for Lesesh to discover in due course. Until then, his quip deserved nothing beyond flippancy: “where you, perhaps, asleep on the day when you where supposed to be taught not to insult a man to the face of his fiancée?”

Politeness was not a trait of the Worker caste. Which is why we had, for a thousand years, encouraged them not to speak with outsiders.

Strange times made for strange behaviours.

* * *

Within a day, the station's standing defence force was supplanted by Ranger White Stars, Sharlins from the Workers and my caste, and the mixed crew White Stars operated by the Vree, Drazi and Bakiri.

We were prepared.

A meeting was scheduled between Sheridan and the senior members of the Warrior caste on Babylon; which is to say that the former summoned the latter.

In the intervening time I continued to train Sheridan to communicate with the Warriors to convey what was necessary to minimize bloodshed. It was necessary that Sheridan not fall into the trap of accepting a hollow offering of peace with the Warriors. It was necessary that the Warriors came to see Sheridan largely as my puppet; that the governance of the station was, in defacto terms, an extension of my wishes as a member of the Religious caste. They were to see Babylon as our territory, and they were no longer welcome here.

Sheridan still had his own questions.

“What are they going to want us to do with the temple bombers?”

“They will be happy for you to keep them as prisoners of war.” For the moment. “Warrior motivations are not something that seem rational to others.”

“Tell me about it...”

* * *

In Sheridan's office, behind Sheridan, stood myself and the other representatives of the Babylon Defense Pact, to remind the Warriors that we all stood together to protect our adopted home. Attempt nothing stupid, thick headed fools, or you will be made to regret it.

“Gentlemen,” Sheridan said. “I don't like people setting off bombs on my station, I don't like revenge feuds, and one way or another, it's going to stop. Right here, right now.”

The Warriors looked at each other, then at the assembled ambassadors, then at Sheridan.

“We do not answer to you, Captain. Or to any of you.”

“On this station, you do. Now, which is it? Either you swear on your honour that there will be no more 'incidents,' or you'll get your asses on the ferry back to your own territory—and if you're not on it, I'll throw your thick heads out the nearest airlock.”

The senior Warrior looked at me, then back at Sheridan. “You use _Religious_ insults. So much for your claims that Babylon is a place of neutrality. So much for the value of Human promises—they are nothing more than books of lies.”

“As far as you're concerned, neutrality ended when you refused to commit to allowing the courts to deal with the killing of Naaell.”

The senior Warrior looked at me, incredulous.

“What has consumed your mind for you to think that we do not communicate?” I said.

“I reiterate, gentlemen. Either you follow the same laws here as everyone else or you go home. Dead or alive.”

Sheridan was ignored by the senior Warrior as he spoke to me in the native language of his caste. “You would bring outsiders into our affairs?”

“You are the outsiders to the law here,” I said, in English.

The ranking Warrior ignored me and looked to Sheridan.

“We will leave,” the Warrior leader said, returning to English, “but only because we will not defile ourselves by living somewhere influenced by the _Religious_. You have made an enemy today of our caste today, Captain. Do not ever forget that.”

“I wasn't aware I was ever anything else.”

The Warriors each made, in turn, the gesture which said that if they saw any of us again, they would (try) to kill us.

“That is not something you wish to start,” Lesesh said, in the Worker native language.

I need not explain his meaning.

The Warrior leader sneered, then he and his followers marched from Sheridan's office in single file.

We thanked the other ambassadors and sent them on their respective paths. Sheridan very quickly took a drink from a bottle he kept, out of sight to most, in his desk drawer.

“I'd offer, but...”

“Of course.”

“My heart's going 120. For a minute I thought the guy was going to leap over my desk and take my head off.”

“They would not have attacked, physically.”

Even barbarians had rules. Cowardly barbarians were not an exception.

“I wish you'd told me that an hour ago.”

If he had known, he might have taken a more aggressive stance. And that could have caused problems. Warriors will respect authority, but they will not respect threats.

“What was that between the Warriors and Ambassador Lesesh?”

“Petty bickering.”

That would be easier for Sheridan to accept than what was proper to say: that it was no concern of his.

* * *

At a meeting of the station's officers, I gave a briefing on what to expect when disposing of the Warriors. Despite the Warrior promise to leave consensually, it was best to ensure they had no temptation to disregard their word—and to ensure they left no explosive surprises behind, in the metaphorical manner of a herd of poorly-housetrained pets.

Sheridan and I wished the deportations to be conducted as quietly as possible to avoid fanning the flames of hatred among the Warriors or fanning the fires of suspicion among the uninvolved. But there was only so much 'quiet' possible when removing 322 people and conducting searches of their former houses and apartments to ensure they were gone without leaving anything of consequence behind.

I reminded the officers that Warriors, if they chose to offer resistance, would not fight against what they accepted as poor odds, but would commit suicide if faced with impossible odds. In the event of resistance, the art to extracting every Warrior without deaths would be to tactically outnumber any resisters by three, but no more.

If there was any major violence, however, the Rangers were to deal with it. Let the problem of warfare fall on my conscience, and let whatever revenge the Warriors may try to extract fall on those of us who were best prepared to deal with it.

As a precaution, Ranger forces would move to a higher defencive posture shortly before the deportations began. All nine of the Ranger heavy drones on Babylon would be in operation on the day of the deportations; with enough ammunition, each, to kill all of the Warriors if need be. I was in no mood to take risks.

The station officers had mixed views about what we were about to do.

Garibaldi was quietly pleased to have the opportunity to 'bash heads' on the offencive 'for once.' How much of his pleasure was based on being given a mission to bash _Minbari_ heads was something I dared not imagine.

Among some Humans, the shadows of history extend for many years.

Ivanova said little. I could tell she was deeply conflicted. She didn't want what she viewed as a 'gang fight' on the station, but one of the few things she told me, during a break in the meeting, was to look up something called kristallnacht.

Among some Humans, the shadows of history extend for many centuries.

Whether Ivanova thought I was taking on the role of someone named Adolph Hitler was something I dared not imagine.

Sheridan pushed his chair back from the wardroom table. “Alright, let's do this, and pray to whatever you believe in that we never have to do anything like this ever again.”

In Valen's name, what had we become?

* * *

I retreated to the safety of my embassy until the deportation project was completed.

When the ferry arrived from Minbar, I sat in the command chair of the ops room in hope and prayer that none of the screens arrayed before me would show anything wrong; that none of those working here would report to me anything wrong; and above all else that nothing would go wrong _and_ un-noticed.

Eleven shuttles from the ferry docked to deliver freight and personnel to the station.

Buses and cars carrying the Warriors began arriving at immigration outprocessing.

Satlenn, my security supervisor, idly toyed with the master fire enable key for our drones, in nervous wait for any reason to give the drone operators permission to use their weapons.

The Warrior vehicles began unloading their passengers.

I touched Satlenn's arm, in direction for him to be more dignified and more motionless.

The Warriors formed into a queue at immigration outprocessing.

The vehicles drove away; those owned by the station to storage; those owned by Warriors to the heavy cargo terminal to be loaded onto cargo shuttles.

The line of Warriors began to move through the immigration booths, marching, as they always did, in lock-step as the line advanced.

Every Warrior, from the senior leaders to the children, looked towards whichever drone that they could see and made a gesture: 'we will kill you.'

This is how cycles of hatred continue.

I felt nothing. I did not hate them—I needed to be free of them. There was a massive difference.

In twenty minutes the final Warrior had been outprocessed from Babylon. Without incident. In another four hours the eleven shuttles had completed their business and had returned to the ferry. In another quarter hour the ferry itself had been refueled for the return trip to the homeworld and departed into hyperspace. Without incident.

Where the Warriors went after being sent away, was not my concern.

Open war would not be triggered from Babylon. That was all that mattered.

I thanked Satlenn and his teams for their work, then left my ops room and returned to my own routine work.

All that was left was to search the areas of the station the Warriors might have found it worth leaving behind explosives, to be certain that they had not. My Rangers worked closely with the station police for several days to see this completed.

Nothing was found.

I have nothing negative to say about Sheridan's officers or enlisted in relation to any of this. All performed well, even Michael Garibaldi.

Those who were expecting a more, for lack of a better word, 'dramatic' ending to the Warrior crisis will be disappointed. How I made Babylon safe, however, is how crises are _supposed_ to be ended in the ideal: with no blood shed and no more unpleasant activities than a few tense meetings and a few sleepless nights. This is how crises do end when those of us in power and those who follow execute our respective responsibilities with the gravitas they deserve.

Be that a lesson to those who seek to lead.

Be it a lesson to those who follow that none of this would have been necessary if not for the actions of an ignorant fool who believed he was defending my life by killing Naaell.

May his name be cursed for a thousand years.

I had coerced the Universe into giving me peace in the place where I lived, but as for peace where most Minbari lived, that was another matter entirely. I had faith that Dasraal and the rest of the caste leadership would be dealing with that problem. Because faith is what I was supposed to have.

But not even faith is eternal.


	5. Wildfire

The removal of the Warriors from Babylon did not go unnoticed by my caste.

Dasraal saw the utility of my embassy complex as a Minbari place free from the unrest that had consumed our home territory. The place that was mine had become a safe space to relocate some of our caste governmental functions that were now difficult to perform at our capital at Yedor. There, the continuity of normalcy could no longer be maintained when our capital buildings were, at times, subject to mortar fire and our bureaucrats were, at times, forced to work from bunkers. Here, my embassy was safe, and, with the end of the Great War, I had the resources to take on additional responsibilities.

When Dasraal extended to me the offer that I take control of all foreign policy for our caste—beyond those portions of our foreign policy that were already mine as our representative to the Babylon project—I accepted with little thought.

For Dasraal, the decision to decentralize brought with it the ability for him to concentrate his attention on the unrest within our own territory. That choice of his I did not oppose.

For myself, suffice to say that I prefer to be busy rather than idle.

Had I known of the concept behind the phrase 'government in exile' I would have been at least slightly alarmed at my sudden rise in status.

Had I known that Dasraal had, in the interests of projecting a facade of normalcy to other states, expelled all foreign representatives to our caste from our territory, I would have been _very much_ alarmed that the situation within our territory had become so unsettled.

But I knew of neither, and took my new responsibilities, as they were given, without much thought.

Sheridan brought me vanilla ice-cream to celebrate what he saw as my promotion; he would have rather done more, but he already knew well that Minbari do not _celebrate_ such things. That, I had taught him when I was elevated to become entil'zha. But he did also know that vanilla was pleasantly psychotropic to Minbari; that, I had taught him far earlier.

I had so little expectation that the first briefing reports which came with my new responsibilities would bring unwelcome news that I read those reports while lying on my bed, in the predawn time between when I awoke and when I could fairly expect my aides to be ready for me.

I have always woken very early.

All who reported to me through this line of authority were of my own caste and I expected nothing irresponsible or foolish from any of them, any more than I expected—or allowed—such things from myself.

The future makes fools of us all.

At the two-thirds point of the briefing reports I had been given, I discovered that an inexperienced diplomat by the name of Farrell, who was posted to one of our border regions, had seen reason to enter into negotiations with the Drakh, then unknown to us, to fight along side our caste against the Warriors on the surfaces of our worlds.

What Farrell wanted, in exchange for Drakh military aid, was permission to offer the Drakh the right to permanently settle on the home world.

_**NO**._

I very quickly rose from my bed and used the time it took to re-dress for the day—that day, in purple—to let the thoughts of violence against Farrell drain from my mind—which was fortunate, far more than for his sake than mine.

Calling on Sheridan to conduct deportations of Warriors from _his_ station was one thing, but outright involvement of outsiders in our affairs to the point of trading the purity of our home for temporary protection was something very different.

Something had gone very wrong within our caste for any to believe otherwise.

* * *

I would meet with the young Farrell to decide what would be done to him.

I began to estimate how long I would be away in order to meet with Farrell in person: days in transit; days on site; days in return transit. And then I estimated the secondary impacts: how many meetings on Babylon I would miss; how much work I would need to delegate to my staff here while I was away; how many days it would take me to catch up with my own work when I returned; how many times of contact I would miss with Sheridan and my friends here—the latter two items were petty and personal, yes, but also important.

And then I realized that, as the superior of Farrell, I could simply summon him here and let such problems become his.

I had never realized how much I missed holding _power_ until I held it again.

As entil'zha I was something akin to spiritual leader of the Rangers, but the position that I had been given by Dasraal gave me very much more power over my subordinates within my caste than I ever had since my impeachment from the Grey Council.

I sent a message ordering Farrell to send his working journals for my immediate review, then for him to come urgently to Babylon to meet with me in person.

* * *

Farrell's records came promptly.

My aides and I scrutinized Farrell's journals. He saw that his aides kept immaculate documentation; that is one of the few good things that could be said of him.

Farrell had been careless to the point of irresponsibility. The Drakh had made contact with him only weeks ago but he was already requesting permission to enter into critical negotiations— _with them, an unknown race_ —that would define the future of our home world for eternity.

In the past weeks, the situation of our caste against the Warriors had deteriorated such that the weak minded would be readily seduced by the offer made by the Drakh: permission to settle millions of Drakh on unused tundra in exchange for promises of their armed support against the Warriors.

Promises, made by the Drakh, that, should they choose to renege, could never be enforced against them as an entrenched population of millions armed well enough to retaliate against any attack.

Permission, if granted by us, that would grant to outsiders permanent control over the planet that was the soul of our civilization.

I expected better than for someone who was too weak of mind to realize any of this to be placed in a position of power. Farrell would be removed. And then he would be punished.

As for the Drakh, even then, I knew something about them was not right. New civilizations do not emerge from nothing. They emerge from known planets; planets that are almost always identified as hosting civilizations _millennia_ before contact is established. But these Drakh emerged from nowhere. And that was very suspicious.

I directed Lennier to see if anything else could be discovered of the Drakh from our records and contacts with other races. It was the sort of unglamourous work that he relished, and that Farrell had no excuse for failing to do himself.

In time, Lennier reported back to me that the Drakh had been known to us during Valen's war as servants of the Shadows.

Which meant that Farrell had come very close to the treason of handing our home world to those who served the Shadows.

In an earlier era I would have ordered him to kill himself without further thought.

But that would have gone against everything I had sought to become over the past fourteen years.

I meditated until the desire for violence passed from my mind.

As arranged, I would meet with Farrell. And then I would, as someone who aspired to be civilized, send him for trial.

* * *

At the end of our work day, I shared tea with Lennier in the embassy solarium.

I poured tea for both of us. It was my turn to serve in that way.

“I am afraid,” he said, hesitantly, “of what I have seen in our caste. We are not the people I thought we were, to be murdering without orders, and to be making agreements with agents of the _Shadows_.”

I sipped my tea and tried to find solace in it.

“We are failing in ways that you have taught are beneath us,” Lennier added.

I had nothing to say.

Because he was right.

Solace did not come.

* * *

That night I lay awake, trapped between what was expected of me as a member of my caste and what was expected of me by Sheridan both as his partner in work and as his fiancée. As the former, I was obligated to say nothing to an outsider about Farrell's misdeeds. As the latter, Sheridan had a need to know of the Drakh. It had been made clear that he expected such openness from me. Very clear.

If I told Sheridan nothing, and that silence cost anything he cared for, he would never forgive me.

If I told Sheridan too much, and that openness revealed exploitable faults within our caste, my caste would imprison me.

During sleep I dreamt of walking on the edges of sharpened knives; my own blood staining the ground under me.

Chrysalis changed many thing about me, but it did not change that I dreamt as Minbari do.

* * *

I met with Sheridan in his office, a place selected because I did not want the memories of the conversation I did not want to have to taint the memories of our encounters in more private places. Here was a place of work, and not all memories of work were expected to be pleasant.

I took a slow walk around the room. Sheridan did not press me to speak; he knew this is what I did when I had something that was uncomfortable to say. I turned to face him.

“The Shadows have awoken helpers, the Drakh, that have slept since the War of Valen. What we thought ended at Corianna 6, is not yet finished.”

Nothing I can write could convey the look of utter dejection that filled Sheridan's face.

We had fought so hard to survive against the Shadows and Vorlons; we knew since Corianna 6 that there were no assurances that our enemies would not return. But to be subjected to this, now, to see these Shadow servant Drakh working to destabilize the ground on which we both stood felt as if we had been struck across our faces, not with a hand but with a bullwhip. In the years Sheridan had left, he may never live to see peace; he may never live to see any reward for the struggle that had cost him so much. Nor may I, in the century I had left.

The Universe practises its own form of sadism.

“What's happened? I haven't heard anything.”

We stood in front of Sheridan's desk, each holding the other's hands.

“You wouldn't have. Let's just say they have been causing trouble for my people.”

“Anyone killed?”

“Not yet,” I said. “That is not how the Drakh worked. The records say that they sowed subversion—by setting factions against each other—instead of fighting openly.”

I locked eyes with my fiancé. “John, we have sacrificed so much...”

He drew me into his embrace and we held each other in silence for many minutes, in search of mutual comfort from our closeness.

We would face this future better than we had faced the Shadows. We were closer now; dividing us would be far harder than it had been then. We had the trust of the other races now; driving them from us would be far harder than it had been then. It would be easier. But it would still not be easy.

* * *

“If you're right and the Drakh are still more into subversion than war,” Sheridan said, “then we need to isolate them before they can start causing trouble for the other races, or we'll be fucked into dealing with 'what do you want' all over again.”

Sheridan took a gulp of his coffee.

“I know this goes against everything you've been trained to be, Delenn, but I think you should make public what your people know about the Drakh.”

“In Valen's name, why?”

“No one who lost people to the Shadows is going to forgive them, ever. If you can convince the rest of the galaxy that the Drakh were Shadows servants then the moment the Drakh try to make contact they'll be shot on sight, for revenge if nothing else. The Drakh can't manipulate people who won't talk to them. That reduces their attack surface to Earth Alliance, and maybe the Centauri. Two instead of eighty,” he said.

“EA and the Centauri are a very large 'two,'” I replied.

“Which is all the more reason to do our damndest to keep the other eighty-odd out of the way.”

“I cannot commit to what you propose now, John. But I will think about it.”

* * *

On the home world, the Warriors had been escalating their attacks against us to what, to use a term from the history of Ivanova's culture, were best described as pogroms.

I could see why Farrell would be tempted by the offer made by the Drakh.

Hundreds of our caste were dying over every day as the Warriors killed us at the opportunities they could find.

It was not something we were suited to defend against. All of us on the surfaces of our worlds were hopelessly outnumbered and untrained in the arts of planetary war. We are not infantry. We are the believers, thinkers, artists, prophets, and we were the leaders of our civilization. But, to the Warriors, that mattered not: we were nothing more than 'filth' unfit to live.

To resolve the situation I did nothing. Because faith in the leadership of my caste is what I was expected to have.

* * *

Farrell arrived on Babylon for his meeting without tea. Expectedly, he seemed pleased that he had attracted my attention. Such meetings with those of high rank are often the keys to rapid promotion. In this case, however, the result, for him, would be very much the opposite.

When Farrell was brought to my office and discovered, first, that I had my aides and Ranger security behind me, then discovered, second, that I refused to serve tea, his face quickly realized that the meeting he was about to have was not something he would enjoy.

Farrell looked nervously among my aides, then at my guards, then at me.

“I have been in discussions with a new race, known as the Drakh, to trade territory on the home world for their support against the Warriors,” he said, very softly. “At the time you were not responsible for our combined foreign policy. I did not mean to usurp your authority; if they were known to participate in the Babylon project I would have told them to negotiate with you, here.”

I glared at the young diplomat as if I was about to tear his soul apart.

“But they are a new race, and have no contacts here,” he stammered.

“You presume that I am angered because my role was bypassed. _You presume._ ”

“Then—”, Farrell said, bewildered. “I do not understand.”

“ _I_ am angered because you have proposed to give away the beating soul of our civilization in exchange for a temporary advantage against the Warriors.”

“All I am offering is another tool for the leadership to protect us. Please, Delenn, consider that.”

“No, I will not consider it, because any pact with these Drakh would give the home world to servants of the Shadows. Because that is what the Drakh are.”

I could almost see the wheels break from his train of thought.

There was one point in the positive for Sheridan's plan to be public about the Drakh: Farrell may not have been quite so foolish if he had more clearly known with whom he was communicating.

“Shadow servants? But they are supposed to have disappeared?”

If a lack of information could cause a member of my caste to choose poorly, a lack of information would certainly cause poor choices by others who were less devoted to the fighting of darkness.

“Where you, perhaps, asleep on the day when you were supposed to be taught to conduct due diligence?”

Farrell looked down, but said nothing. The ritual insult was, perhaps, beneath me, but it was the least damaging of many things that I was tempted to say at that moment.

“Now,” I said, “it is time to repair what damage you have done. You may cooperate, or you may go on trial for treason immediately. One or the other.”

* * *

I told Sheridan that I thought we should 'run with' his idea to make the allegiance of the Drakh known. I would make a presentation to the Babylon General Assembly once my staff had the opportunity to consolidate our records and intelligence into something persuasive.

Then I warned Sheridan that the Rangers would be going into battle against the Drakh in the near future.

“I thought you said they didn't fight,” Sheridan said.

“Some things cannot go unanswered,” I replied.

It took him a few moments to realize that I intended to launch a first strike.

No servants of the Shadows were ever to be permitted to think of Minbari internal affairs as something in which they should interfere nor should our civilization be allowed to be seen as an easy target for their predations.

Some intrusions required a response.

* * *

Farrell had been sufficiently cooperative to lure his Drakh associates for what they believed would be a meeting, in deep space, with the senior members of my caste.

From my ops room I observed the battle telemetry of what I expected to be an easy ambush.

The Drakh sent one small ship.

I sent three Sharlin—which the Drakh saw—and twenty-seven White Stars—which the Drakh did not.

Asteroids make such useful concealment. Do not think I learnt nothing from Sheridan.

Much sensor data was gathered on the Drakh ship.

When all was ready, our ships opened fire – with the intent to miss.

The Drakh ship retreated at speed. As had been hoped.

The White Stars followed the Drakh ship in its retreat, as was hoped, to its base of operations.

Seven White Stars were destroyed when it was discovered that the Drakh base of operations was a fleet of eighty ships, many of which were colonizer ships tens of kilometers in dimension. If I had been at the battle, it is likely I would have been very fortunate to escape with my life.

The surviving White Stars quickly retreated to observe but not engage.

Underestimating the Drakh was a mistake I would never forget.

Reports and warnings were quickly propagated. Within the Rangers and to the supreme command of my caste: a report of the battle and the dangers posed by Drakh ships to our forces. To the Workers and Warriors: little beyond that the Drakh were not to be underestimated.

To the other races: nothing. The time was not right.

Through the Ranger command structure, Sheridan was told of what had happened. He offered his help, if I needed it, but I reminded him that if we could not deal with the Drakh internally, we did not deserve to survive. Our willingness to depend on outsiders for our safety was limited to Valen and Valen alone.

I sent emergency messages to Ranger command and the caste supreme command requesting as many ships as each could spare within nine hours. Any sooner and we would not have enough resources to guarantee a successful counter-attack. Any later, the greater the chances of the Drakh acquiring re-enforcements.

I then swallowed what remained of my pride and then made the same request for ships from the Workers. I do not mean to be glib, but there is no dignified way to yell 'help' from a caste not my own.

The Workers were less than pleased. Recriminations would come later, they said, but for now, defending the home world came before all else. To the end of the response was a personal addendum from Darshan: “would your caste perhaps consider no longer installing treasonous fools in positions of responsibility before you kill all of us?” From Darshan I expected little else: the truth, delivered without beauty.

To the Warriors I made a pro-forma request for support, but expected nothing but insults in return. I was not left unsatisfied. All the Warriors returned was outrage at my caste for having exposed our civilization to the Drakh. “Stand with the mess of your own creation,” they said.

So much for the Warrior willingness to fight when our borders were at risk. They had chosen to risk the home world only to make a point against us. That, when the time came, they would be made to suffer for.

When the time came.

In the immediate future, other, more pressing, needs called.

In nine hours there would be four hundred ships available to teach these Drakh a lesson they would never survive.

* * *

A hundred Sharlin came from my caste; two hundred White Stars were drawn from every place the Rangers could find them; from the Workers came another hundred Sharlin armed with HKVs—and other things the Workers did not share with the other castes.

From the safety of hyperspace, the Worker Sharlin fired their HKVs into the Drakh colonizer ships, incinerating all of them simultaneously. The Drakh would have had no warning. One moment, they would have felt safe. The next, hundreds of jump points would have opened inside their colonizer ships, tearing them to pieces from within. And then the HKV warheads would have detonated with the energy of gigatons. Whatever was left of the Drakh would-be colonists became superheated gas.

How many Drakh died that day from my orders I do not know. Nor do I care.

My only regret is that their suffering was not greater.

These Drakh sought to occupy the planet that was ours, not just in physical possession but also as the heart and soul of our civilization, and pervert it into something that served Shadow interests. Killing them was a moral imperative, and killing them painfully was not something to reject as an act of hideous barbarism but rather something they completely deserved as a warning to others that harming us in that way was not to be attempted.

These were not the kind of thoughts I had found myself thinking in decades, not since the killing of Dukhat. But what I felt now was even different from then; this was not a moment of rage but rather a deliberated chain of thought taken in cold blood.

Perhaps I had regained some of what had become lost in all that had happened in the past decade and a half.

The battle was not yet over. The Drakh warships not suitable targets for HKV fire; eliminating them could only be done in the conventional way.

A dual-spear attack was conducted, with the White Stars tasked against the remaining Drakh forces from one axis and groups of Sharlin tasked against the Drakh from another axis.

My fleet jumped in a few light seconds away; the White Stars used the tactics developed by Sheridan for use against Shadow droneships to great effect. The White Stars manuevered unpredictably, using the light lag between themselves and the Drakh as protection, and opened fire in coordinated packs when the opportunity arose. It was a difficult battle—akin to fighting Shadows—but the crews and ships performed exceptionally, putting the experience earned in blood during the Great War to great effect.

By the White Stars, no losses were suffered. Among their targets, none survived.

The battle fought by the Sharlin force was another matter.

The Sharlins were at a great disadvantage. They were too large and lacked the maneuvrability to use White Star tactics against the Drakh; the Drakh ships were too fast to be vulnerable to the traditional Sharlin tactics of firing from well outside of the weapons range of our enemies. The Sharlin were forced to close to within very short range and to rely only on their armor and defences for protection. Dozens were destroyed or severely damaged. The Sharlin fleet obtained victory over its objectives only through the force of vastly superior numbers.

Minbari civilization was again reminded, as it had been reminded by the Humans when they had crippled the Hand of Valen and killed Dukhat, that we were not as secure as we had believed.

In later years, Darshan told me that she was woken from her sleep by her aides when details of the battle reached the Worker capital buildings. Her aides sought permission to restart White Star production immediately, and she granted it within moments. The next morning she authorized the start of the UW1 project to replace the Sharlin force completely – the project that would eventually lead to the Unity-class ships that are now the backbone of the ~~ISA~~ fleet.

Never let it be said that the _Workers_ are incapable of adapting in the face of existential crises.

* * *

When the battle was finished, Lennier informed me that Farrell had been found, dead, after having apparently jumped from a high balcony at his hotel to the concrete below.

That is our way, when the full horror of our mistakes becomes inescapable.

Beyond immediate kin, I cannot say that anyone ever cared, on an emotional level, much for Farrell's loss. Treason, even purely due to ignorance, is one of the few things that should not be forgiven.

* * *

At his request, I again met Sheridan in his office.

He smiled at me, then he shook his head and sighed.

“You're not going to say one word about why I have another Minbari corpse in my morgue, are you?”

“That is correct.” It was no concern of his. Or of any outsider.

Sheridan shrugged. He finally knew better than to try to push me.

“I've been thinking about how we should handle the Drakh,” he said. “They want something, or they wouldn't have tried to make a deal with your people. Between the Centauri and Clark's EA I'm a lot more worried about them and Clark getting cooperative.”

“I wouldn't trust Mollari's claim to have rejected the Shadows further than I could throw him, but he did lose most of his fleet to the Vorlons and he's going to be too busy rebuilding to have the spare resources to help anyone for a long time,” Sheridan said.

“Clark's EA, now, them I'm worried about. Clark must have got the Shadows' attention because he wanted something on the scale of what Mollari wanted—you know, another empire—and I'd bet my life he's still going to try to get what he wants by continuing the relationship he had with the Shadows with their replacements. And he got through the war unscathed, so he's got the resources to help the Drakh. It's only a matter of time until the two of them try to cooperate, especially now you've kicked the Drakh in the teeth and they're both going to be gunning for your head.”

I said nothing. A Drakh alliance with EA would combine human inventiveness, numbers, and proclivity for xenophobic hatred with the near-Shadow technology controlled by the Drakh. That would be the sort of match that all who were not Human would be very lucky to survive. The prospect of it would scare many of us deeply enough that we would be very much willing to raze Earth to prevent even the possibility of it coming to fruition.

The harder, more moral, task would be preventing it without completing an act of xenocide.

Killing is easy. Peace is not.

“Or, at least, I think that's the probable enough scenario for you to explain it to your leadership,” Sheridan added.

“You are seldom wrong, John,” I said, “but my leadership is very much preoccupied with domestic concerns at the moment. I will need to 'pitch' to my caste the possibility of what you outline to seek support to do anything to stop it. What you suggest is the sort of thing that will scare many of us deeply enough to act, but creating motion from stasis, now, will take time.”

I was now in a race to permanently secure my own power-base, and then to depose the Human government, before the Drakh and Clark made good on their natural compatibility. How long I had, I did not then know, but I suspected it was weeks rather than months.

Even now, I do not know how close the time came to the Humans and Drakh forming something catastrophic. But I suspect they came very close—and that our survival was a matter of equally close timing.

“I will give you the resources to do what you can,” I added, “to keep the situation, as you say, 'under control' while I work.”

Sheridan was to look, only, with the Ranger forces I could spare, and above all else not draw us into anything that my species, in its divided state, might find difficult to survive, much less end.

“Personally, the best way to keep everything under control would be to put Clark's head on a pike, but...”

“Kill him and another will take his place,” I replied.

Sheridan's gaze met mine. We both knew that the outcome of this would be a great deal more violence against Humanity than he was comfortable with. Earth Alliance needed reforms, to prevent it from being an attractive partner for the Drakh, and that required much more work than just a few targeted killings.

“I really wish you weren't involved with this, Delenn” he said. “Clark is our own problem, just as Farrell—and whatever else is going on that you're not talking about—is yours.”

“I know, but the Ranger White Stars that are your eyes and hands are ours; mostly crewed by our people, funded by our economy, and supported by our logistics,” I said. “And, the threat, to us, of Drakh-EA cooperation makes the composition of the Human government our concern.”

“I know, but I'm no closer to liking it.”

“If you liked it, you would worry me.” Unspoken: he would worry me _more_. “But I will remain away from visible policymaking as much as I can.”

We would manage the best we could.

Just as we always had.

* * *

During the station's overnight hours, the Warriors had used Farrell's attempted agreement with the Drakh as an excuse to escalate what they had started against my caste. We were, they said, endangering the home world by involving outsiders in our Minbari affairs and, for that, we no longer deserved to exist.

Attacks had been launched against members of my caste in all of our cities on all of our worlds.

Hundreds of thousands had been killed.

Tens of thousands had been marched into the wilderness, without food or water, to die of exposure in the worst winter in living memory. Thousands had been lined up against walls and shot through the back. Thousands had been trapped in buildings that were burned down. The old, the weak, the young—all killed without regard to our accomplishments or potential. How many truly brilliant minds were exterminated like animals in those hours, is something we will never know.

This was no longer unrest. It was genocidal war.

It was only a matter of time until we were forced to retaliate with our starships, and that would reduce our species to little more than a shattered husk of a memory.

Those who knew of what was happening on the surfaces of our worlds knew well that the last generation of our species may have already been born.

* * *

In later years, many of those around me who are not Minbari have speculated that the Drakh offer to Farrell was _intended_ to provoke the reaction of the Warriors; to ignite our civil war from unrest into open warfare. That would be consistent with their behaviours in the years since. If such speculation is true is a retroactive hypothetical I cannot answer. Thinking like those connected to the Shadows is an anathema to Minbari and the Drakh themselves are hardly willing to answer. I will say, however, that my non-Minbari staff are very much convinced.

* * *

I tried to make life continue as it always had on Babylon. I sat for breakfast with my aides, as I always did. Gone were the usual merriments; there were no exchanges of talk of humorous events; no tales of what had been happening to those who were close to us in mind but not in body. Gone, even, was all speech. We said nothing. I do not feel I overstep my knowledge to say that most of us tried to think nothing.

All of us had those who were close to us on the surface of our worlds; none of us had yet lost anyone we cared for to death. But none of us knew with any certainty if those we cared for would survive tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the week after that.

The knowledge that all would be reunited where shadows do not fall was a very small comfort.

We had sacrificed so much to fight the Shadows. To see our civilization doing to itself what the Shadows failed to us was at the limit of what we could bear.

To see the decisions of the caste leadership was beyond the limit of what we could bear. In the morning's message, Dasraal had, in explicit words, ordered me to abandon any hope of seeing my home again:

> Good night, Delenn of Mir, you who were my junior. I fear that before long I will know you only where shadows do not fall. My soul will always remember you as you were, Satai, and for what you gave up so that we all may live. That you gave it for nothing is our shame.
> 
> When all you have been tasked with is done, take yourself far away from us and live out your days as you deserve.

What I deserved—what we all deserved—was to again see our homeland in peace.

I do not overstep the bounds of my knowledge to say that the leader of my caste had given up.

But I also do not overstep the bounds of my knowledge to say that much of the fault was mine.

I had broken the Grey Council in an act of faith that it was what Valen wanted, without any regard to the consequences.

The consequence was this war.

I had known no better as to who Valen was or the limitations of his guidance. I had not known that Valen né Sinclair's knowledge would come to an end soon after the breaking of the first Council.

Darshan had offered an alternative to breaking the Council—by humiliating the Warriors with the combined Council votes of her caste and mine—but I had rejected it because I thought she lacked faith.

Perhaps it was I who lacked faith—faith in the Universe as it was instead of how I wished it to be.

And if I could not see what was truly there, then what value was I to anyone?

Without the guidance of Valen what was I?

Without the guidance of Valen what was my caste?

Perhaps I was an obsolete relic of an era now ended.

Perhaps there _was_ no further use for me.

But that did not mean that my caste should be condemned to death.

If anyone should die for their errors, it should be me, and me alone.

To whom does a high priest go for solace when it is she herself who experiences a crisis of faith?

To no one.

She just does the best she can with what she has.

And hopes it is enough.

I looked at my fork. And then put it down beside my plate.

In an hour I would be speaking about the Drakh to the Babylon General Assembly. But after that:

“We're going home,” I said. It was the first time anyone had spoken at this breakfast. “Not to fight, but to put an end to this while there is still something left to preserve.”

It was not a decision driven by faith, prophecy, or even a careful plan based on an evaluation of the options. It was the only choice I had left.

It was not a choice at all.

* * *

At the General Assembly, I looked along the row of seats for the Security Council members.

The place for the Vorlons—empty. Hopefully forever.

The place for Earth Alliance—empty. By withdrawal or forcible ejection, depending on ones' perspective.

The place for the Narn—held by G'Kar, as always, representing an independent, but powerless, government which had lost its fleet, industry, and much of its population to the second Centauri occupation. Blow on them lightly and they would collapse like so much thin paper.

The place for the Centauri—held by Londo Mollari, as always, representing a government that had been relieved of its fleet by the attack of a Vorlon world destroyer. The Centauri would not recover for decades, if ever. Until then, blow on them and they, too, would collapse like so much thin paper.

The place for myself—representing a caste that was losing a genocidal war that would soon involve nuclear weapons, mass drivers, and far worse. No more need be said.

The place for the Workers—representing a caste that may be vapourized at any moment in the crossfire between the Warriors and my caste.

We were all shells of what we were.

What were any of us truly doing here anymore?

I looked at the Vree ambassador, and then at her Drazi counterpart. If Minbar fell from civilization, then all of this would belong to them.

Sheridan—formally representing only the 125,000 permanent residents of Babylon—smiled at me as I took to the podium, clearly oblivious to the disaster that was unfolding around all of us.

I gave the brief on the Drakh that I came to give. They were Shadow servants, and no one was to cooperate with them in any way. The memories of those who had died in the Great War demanded no less.

“We were able to drive off those Drakh who challenged us, but it was at a high cost to our forces. Be cautious with the Drakh...”

The assembly collectively gasped as I showed video, from the past battles, of Drakh warships destroying our White Stars and Sharlin.

“or you may fare worse than we did.”

I did not show the HKV strikes against the Drakh colonizer ships. In that era, the fact that we even had such weapons was not for outsider knowledge.

I said everything else we knew of the Drakh, save for Sheridan's fear that Earth Alliance may become their compatriot. That fear would only be announced, lest it inspire EA to do that which I sought to prevent—and lest the fear inspire disorganized attacks against EA—when and _if_ I was in a position to prevent it from becoming reality.

I offered the other states nothing, beyond knowledge, to protect themselves.

Because my caste, on the verge of its own death, was in no position to offer anything.

* * *

I cornered Sheridan the moment the General Assembly session ended.

“I have to go home, John, and I may not be back for some time.”

I spoke in whispers, so the others present would assume only that we were making personal talk.

“What—why?”

“The situation on my home world has, overnight, become far worse than is widely known.”

We went to his house. It was closer than my embassy.

We found the space to be intimate, without benefit of an audience: for the first time, for both us and I.

In a few hours I would need to leave, but until then we were together, to build one last perfect memory of who we were, in case we did not see the other again until we reached the place where shadows do not fall. We did what was right for us: enough to assert that each belonged to the other in soul, heart, and body.

I would have dearly liked for the experience to have been more public—within my caste's traditions for the unwed—but after shan'fal, I owed Sheridan to do something of this sort within the traditions of his culture. Publicity was not something I could have then. But by mentioning our experiences now, I can have some of it now.

Suffice to say the version of this memoir written for those of my own culture is far more explicit.

We then said what I feared would be our last words together and slipped from our embrace for what could have been the last time.

It was supposed to be him to die first, not me. But I knew very well I might never return.

But at least he would not have long to wait until we were reunited.

It would pass, for him, in an eyeblink.

Because that was all he had left.

It was all any of us had left.


	6. How things fell apart

My aides and I slipped from Babylon, carried by nine White Stars, with no ceremony or fanfare. My staff remained behind, in principle to continue managing the external affairs of our caste. In practise, I left them behind to save their lives from the violence that was consuming our home territory. They deserved so much more, but that was all I could give them.

During transit to the home world my aides and I were nearly incommunicado, reduced to contact with either the home world or Babylon at rates of no more than several hundred bits per second at best.

But that was enough to be informed of the terror of those within my caste as their world fell apart around them.

Entire sections of our minor cities had been reduced to rubble.

The center district of Yador, the once gleaming capital of the Minbari Federation, had been reduced to a near ruin as skyscrapers collapsed under the weight of the fighting.

The toll of war had reached over a million confirmed dead in only days.

The Rangers, with their members of all three castes, were the last vestiges of the cooperation that had been the Minbari Federation. But even that was faltering. Without a common enemy to fight, discipline was failing and I was warned that it was a matter of time when desertions would begin as the members of the Warriors and Religious caste chose to fight each other instead of standing together.

I break no oath of secrecy to say that many of the Ranger leadership thought Sinclair's decision to allow Warriors into our number to be a mistake.

What Minbari civilization had been was burning itself to ash.

My lack of options closed around my neck like a noose.

I had control over the Rangers, but to use them to take sides in the war would break the organization. I could not use them, as a whole force, to protect my own caste because the Warriors within the Ranger ranks would revolt. And to use the non-Minbari Rangers to influence our affairs would be impermissible. My greatest asset, I was forced to leave idle.

I had the spiritual leadership of my caste, but formal power lay with Dasraal, and to an extent Masdrenn. I could _ask_ anything of my caste and be heard, but nothing said I was guaranteed to be obeyed. And there was nothing I could say that would entice the Warriors to stand down; they were determined to do, whatever it was they were determined to do. The only things I could _say_ would be for our caste to fight less or surrender—and be destroyed, or to fight harder—and destroy our civilization.

There was little I could say, but, there was one thing I could _do_ : offer my life for peace.

The Warriors had long despised me—I need not expand on that—and my death might satisfy them into accepting some form of peace for the decades it would take for my caste to regroup.

One life for many was but a small price.

It was a price I was prepared to pay.

I used the time I had left on the journey to write my final words to those I cared for.

For my friends and colleagues in my caste, there was little difficulty. They would understand my motivations and agree with my choices. The situation had occurred before; _Ritual and Practise_ contained exactly the words to use. I will not repeat them here; those who are interested can read from the original source.

For my Human contacts, the answer was much more difficult to find. The most common secular Human tradition for those about to be in my position was the suicide note, within which those who ended their lives blamed those around them for their own inadequacies. That was not suitable. The other secular tradition were those note written by those about to end their lives due to medical suffering; that too was unsuitable.

I improvised—an act as foreign to me as quoting _Ritual and Practise_ would be to a Human.

I will not relate what proved unnecessary to use.

* * *

My ships arrived in orbit over the home world with no fanfare or ceremony. We requested, and were cleared into, a parking orbit inclined to allow minimal-fuel access to what remained of our capital at Yador.

At least the Agreement of Civilization had held to the extent that our orbital infrastructure was intact.

As for what had happened on the surface of my home world, that was another matter. That was another matter entirely.

The ships’ sensors gathered optical imagery of the surface, so all of us aboard may see what had been done by the Warriors to our home. Words failed me. Fires burned where there should have been city lights. Rubble stood where there should have been temples, buildings, and houses.

Where civilization had been, there were only the remains created by war.

All of this had been reported, during our trip from Babylon, but to see it in person was another matter than to be told of it in the abstract. For this much damage to have been done in so little time—the fighting must have been horrific.

I ordered the imagery to be transmitted to my staff on Babylon—where the Warriors would have little hope of ever destroying the data—so that the Warriors would never be able to escape the judgement of history for what they had caused.

* * *

My aides encouraged me to make a religious edict to the caste, to call on our people to temper our desire for revenge, and to abide by the Agreement of Civilization, such that we not exterminate our species. After one of my own staff had been the first to escalate tensions on Babylon, I certainly saw the logic. The Warriors were not the only ones who were willing to overstep the bounds of prudence.

But I declined. I would need to speak with Dasraal first, to form a united front. It was not my place to usurp his leadership.

There was no easy way to tell Dasraal that I was here, or what I planned to do. He had ordered me, essentially, into exile, and for me to be here, now, was something akin to mutiny.

I told Dasraal the blunt truth. I wanted to meet with him, in person, here.

Suffice to say he was less than pleased.

But I was given an appointment to meet with him, in the bunker that still stood under the remains of what had been our capital building.

* * *

From the safety of my White Star in orbit, I sent one last text to Sheridan, to tell him that I was going to the surface and I did not know when I would be able to contact him again.

He replied to remind me that he loved me and to wish me good luck.

I turned off my phone and left it on my desk. The dead take no calls.

I walked from my office to the hangar and boarded a flyer for the trip to my caste’s command bunker.

I sat in the jumpseat behind the two pilots, so I could at least see what I was approaching.

If I dared.

I glanced over the control screens to see that all was well—some habits do not die easily—said a prayer for all of our lives, and gave the order to depart.

A year ago, I had been here before. And then I had caused all of this.

It had seemed to simple to implement prophecy, to persuade my caste and the Workers to break from the Federation—to leave the Grey Council—to save Babylon from those Humans who favored the Shadows. But this was the price.

On the night-side of Minbar, fires burned below me and converted the remains of Valen’s ideas of coexistence between the castes into so much smoke and ash.

A year ago, the first footstep that had lead all of us here had felt so right.

* * *

In the months that followed my impeachment and the unbalancing of the Grey Council in the favor of the Warriors, an uneasy stability had developed in Minbari politics. My caste, represented in the Grey Council by Dasraal and his remaining deputy, Masdrenn, remained passive in quiet wait for the next act of prophecy to require our action. The Workers, under Darshann, remained passive to see if our interpretation of prophecy would be supported by reality. The Warriors did what they did best: they were obstructionist.

A vote had been taken by the Council to barr _direct_ intervention by our people into the Shadow conflict. As with most other votes taken by the Grey Council in that era, the outcome was recorded as four votes (Warriors) in favor to five (Religious and Worker) abstentions.

The situation was stable, if unpleasant, until the Humans did what they did best: they upset the status quo.

Some weeks before the final split between Babylon and Earth Alliance, word came to me that all of our consulates on Earth had been simultaneously firebombed. Twenty-one of our Human employees had been killed and several members of our diplomatic service had been injured. Through ISN, EarthGov blamed the attacks on “uncontrollable Human passions stirred up by alien interference in Human affairs.” There was no doubt that EarthGov was complicit if not directly responsible. It was message to us, but also a warning to those Humans who chose to cooperate with us.

“Damn it, I'm sorry. We are better than this.”

“I know you are better than this, John, but your government is not.”

“We're working on it. We just have a few bad apples to get rid of.”

“A President who has allied himself with the Shadows is something far worse than a piece of rotten fruit.”

“I'll work around EathGov as long as I have to, but I'm not ready to write off my home planet just yet.”

A few hours later I was informed that the Grey Council had decided to cut off all civic relations with Earth Alliance. All Minbari civilians—this is an inexact translation; the word to express the proper meaning does not exist in English—in Earth Alliance territory were strongly urged to leave immediately and all official posts in EA territory, save for the embassies at EarthDome and on the Babylon station, were to be closed.

I recorded a message for the Babylon station television channel to inform the Minbari population here of the Grey Council position. I added the conclusions of my staff that the security situation on Babylon did not yet justify an evacuation. As much as the competence and loyalty of Garibaldi was always in question, there were limits to how much disorder, or racist violence, _Sheridan_ would tolerate.

In all, less than two hundred of the ten thousand eligible to leave did so. It was only two hundred—none of them known to me personally—but the departures of Minbari from Earth Alliance territory was also the death of my hope for any large-scale cooperation with Humanity.

For thirteen years I had believed that Earth would come to stand beside us, in a formal alliance, against the Shadows. For thirteen years I had worked to make that day happen. It was a mistake. No bridge can be built with those who respond to overtures of cooperation with unthinking violence.

We had cooperated with EarthGov in protecting Earth Alliance while they rebuilt their fleet. We had cooperated with their request that our continued presence be kept secret. We had cooperated with the design, funding, and construction of the Babylon station. We had cooperated with bringing to the Babylon project races known to us but not known to Earth.

All of it repaid by EarthGov condoning violence against what little of our property they could attack without much fear of reprisal.

Thirteen years of wasted effort.

I burned the pen I used to sign the memorandum of understanding that lead to the creation of the Babylon station. In that act I destroyed a piece of history, but to this day I have no regrets. The history I had tried to create was dead. What would happen next, would be a different chapter.

I said nothing of my feelings to anyone. To say anything of this to my aides, staff or the Rangers would destroy morale and harm my own position. To say anything of this to any of the Humans would not have ended well.

Human loyalties are at least as strong as ours.

I do not fault Sheridan for standing with his people for as long as he did. To be forced to decide between betraying an oath of loyalty to his people and protecting what is right is the hardest decision anyone can be forced to make save for being forced to decide to kill one child to save another.

Both are choices to be wished only on those who would harm what is important to us.

I do not fault Sheridan for standing with his people for as long as he could, but I also do not fault him for declaring Babylon independent from Earth Alliance when he did. The political situation within EA had not been good since before their first contact with the Centauri, and nothing that had happened to them since had done anything to improve it. The deepening of Shadow influence on Earth was the final step that made the severing of ties unavoidable. Our purpose on Babylon was to fight Shadows, and that could not be done from under the fingers of a Shadow-puppet state.

When Sheridan was ordered to choose between keeping his close contact with me, resigning his commission, or being court martialled, I stood wholeheartedly behind his decision to declare independence.

The fight against the Shadows demanded no less.

The reaction from EarthGov from Sheridan's declaration was hardly unexpected. The Babylon project itself was of little importance to Earth, under its current government, but it was a status symbol, and a very visible part of Earth Alliance territory. No government will react well to any visible part of its territory declaring independence. That much is a given.

The hour after the declaration, word reached me—I will not say how—that Earthforce was massing an assault force of sixty Omega-type destroyers to attack the Babylon station in eight days.

There was no option but to fight. EarthGov would never accept the independence of the station at any price acceptable to Sheridan or compatible with our use of the station as a base from which to fight Shadows.

There was also no option but to repel the attackers at a distance. The Babylon station was not designed to withstand attack. One nuclear weapon would be enough to kill all who lived within it. If the attackers came within weapons range, there would be a massacre. EarthGov would certainly open fire—the ensuing reputation of Earth Alliance as a pariah state willing to kill both foreign diplomats and unarmed bystanders was not something they would fear—and Sheridan would certainly never surrender.

But without permission from the Grey Council, I could do nothing to save Babylon. We had been forced, by the Warriors, to stand and do nothing as worlds around us fell to the Shadows; to let our options for survival—much less victory—decline in the face of their obstructionism.

A thousand years ago, Valen had said that the obstructionism of the Warriors, which the Religious caste had been forced to tolerate, would end

> when the light in the sky [Babylon] is threatened by the forces of darkness [Shadows], the dishonored one [Delenn] will save it by breaking what has stood for a thousand years [The Grey Council].

The moment I believed Valen had forseen a thousand years ago had come. The Grey Council must end, and I must be the one to end it.

I handed control over my embassy to my deputy and gave him instructions that all Minbari were to be evacuated if the Human assault fleet came within thirty hours of reaching the station.

There was not time for the formal ceremony for transfer of power. I signed the orders to direct those of my staff who would remain and gave them over without prayer, ritual, or ceremony. What must be done, must be done. Even if it must be done in the way a Human would do it.

My aides and I boarded a flyer and left the station immediately.

I contacted Sheridan as soon we cleared the hangar module.

“Do not ask how I know this, but Earth Force is sending sixty ships against you.”

“Fucking hell. Wait—where are you going?”

“If I do not succeed, I will see you where Shadows do not fall.”

In two hours the flyer docked with White Star 703. The home world was three days away.

During transit we were nearly incommunicado, reduced to communicating at rates of no more than several hundred bits per second at best.

But it was enough. I kept busy, calling in favors of support from those to whom I had extended favors of support during the years I had power.

Never let it be said that I have no understanding of the long game.

* * *

To completely explain the political structure of Minbari society to an outsider would be impossible. Those who do not live as we do can never understand it fully. What is to be understood, here, is a matter of simple politics comprehensible to all.

In that era, the Minbari Federation was a federal state of the three castes under the governance of the Grey Council. The Grey Council is a body of the Federation; it has power only as long as the castes agree that the Federation exists. Without that agreement, there is no state for the Council to lead and it, itself, becomes irrelevant.

What was needed for words of Valen—that the council be broken—to become truth was for the Council to fall by the castes refusing to stand under it. What is not supported from below, falls.

Within the Religious caste, our Satai were our caste leaders, but what stood below them was the Caste Assembly. Persuade the Caste Assembly to withdraw from the Federation, and what is not supported from below, falls.

What was needed for my caste to survive exit was for the Workers to secede from the Council with us. Without those who build, we are nothing. Prayer informs us of who we are, but prayer alone does not make heat to fight the winter or build ships to fight the darkness.

* * *

The Assembly was not a place I had much business speaking to. I was, after all, a disgraced former Satai, the only one of our caste to have ever been impeached. But I was, also, in the eyes of many, the living embodiment of the prophecies of Valen.

And I was not without friends or without favors due in exchange for things done during the years when I had power.

Nothing happens without preparation.

If Dasraal had not been willing to invite me speak before the Assembly, Masdrenn would have. If he had not, hundreds of others would have.

So speak before the Assembly, I did.

> A thousand years ago, Valen gave us prophecies that have guided us to wisdom and have protected us from our enemies. We have followed his words, as is the duty of our caste. A thousand years ago, Valen prophesied that Minbari would fight Shadows with the cooperation of others. For thirty years, we have fulfilled our duty to Valen by preparing to fight. We have become soldiers instead of priests and ship crew instead of poets. As is our duty to Valen.
> 
> But, for thirty years the Warriors have opposed us. Their refusal to act made the Grey Council vulnerable to the Human attack which cost us Dukhat and so many of our colleagues, friends, and aides. Their refusal to act denied us the ability to prevent the Centauri from aligning themselves with the Shadows. Their refusal to act kept us from being ready to prevent the Narn from being destroyed. Their refusal to act has left us without the support of the other races which Valen told us we must have.
> 
> And yet, instead of seeing their error in opposing us, the Warriors have acted to destabilize the Grey Council in their favor. They have removed the voice our caste has had in the affairs of our people. They react to the disasters they have caused by refusing to listen. They react to the disasters they have caused by causing more.
> 
> This cannot be allowed to continue. We cannot allow the Warriors to cost us more because we do not have much more to give.
> 
> The Humans stand divided. Their home world has fallen under Shadow control but the Warriors allow us to nothing. Their government has attacked our diplomats and injured more of our colleagues. Their government is moving—perhaps in concert with the Shadows—to attack the Babylon station, home to ten thousand of our citizens and the second remaining base of Ranger operations. The Warriors allow us to do nothing.
> 
> The prophecies of Valen tell us the Babylon station must not fall. They are correct. But, there are reasons to act even for those who reject the wisdom of Valen.
> 
> The Babylon project was intended as a place of peace. It was intended as a statement that civilization between races was possible. In this, it has failed to produce anything but the slightest glimmer of light.
> 
> But that light is our only future.
> 
> The Babylon station has become home to the Rangers and it stands as our best chance for learning how to fight Shadows before it is necessary for us to fight them for our own survival. I have been a part of that learning. We have, in contravention of the wishes of the Warriors, learned how to use the White Stars to destroy the ships of the Shadows. What we have is our hope for survival. But, we must discover more. There is still much work to be done until we are ready to fight. And it must be done by the people I have assembled to fight with us.
> 
> But, none of it can be done if the Warriors force us to remain inactive any longer. None of it can be done if the station falls under Shadow control. The station must survive, independent and strong.
> 
> We cannot allow the Warriors to risk our future any longer. We cannot allow the Babylon station to fall.
> 
> It is now time for us to enact the next act of the prophecies of Valen. It is time for us to break what he created but no longer serves the needs of Minbari.
> 
> We move, _now_ , or we will all die.

And then, the priests who advise me made their arguments in terms that would be understandable only to those who have been made familiar with the interpretation of the words of prophecy. For twelve hours, I and eight stood, in argument for our position to the leaders of the Religious caste clans.

Arguments were made about the translation of prophecy into modern language; about the validity of our interpretation of prophecy and its connection to current events; about the legality of secession from the Federation; about how we would organize our affairs as an independent caste; about who would speak for us to outsiders.

After twelve hours, we stood down. It was decided that the caste would follow prophecy and that my status would be raised to that of high priest—spiritual leader—of the caste. It was not a unanimous decision, but it was enough.

And then I went to visit a friend I will not name, for a purpose I will only imply.

“I need to take back some of what you are keeping for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“For the first time in my life, I am certain.”

* * *

Flanked by Satai Dasraal on one side and Satai Masdrenn on the other, I carried a small case emblazoned with three symbols of the Triluminary arranged in the shape of the Triluminary itself.

We met with our opposites from the Worker Caste. Darshann, the Caste Leader, and her three Satai.

I placed the case on the table that was between us. Darshann observed it in the way I expect she would observe an unexploded bomb.

We greeted each other in the way that had been dictated by custom.

Darshann glanced at the case. “Is that an offer or a threat?”

It was whatever it needed to be.

Darshann spoke. “We do not consider supporting you because of your belief in prophecy, Delenn. You are considered by most of us to be an ill-tempered, dangerous, fanatic undeserving of the trust Dukhat placed in you. Especially if you were, as some of us believe, either his unacknowledged daughter or his mistress.”

I declined my delegation's offer to defend my honor.

Darshann again glanced at the case.

“Never the less,” Darshann added, “only a fool goes into war unprepared and surrounded by enemies. That is what the Warriors are pushing Minbari towards. I do not want our first experience with the Shadows to be them bombing the home world. So, I will listen to your proposals. In the hopes, at least, that cooperation will prevent you from doing anything rash.”

Darshann again glanced at the case.

“I have no interest in personally leading our castes as a single state,” I said.

“Good. Because that is not an option I will accept,” Darshann replied.

“But I do want the Rangers given a free hand to fight Shadows as entil'zha Sinclair sees fit.”

“You trust the barbarian that much?”

I ignored the slight against Sinclair.

“I wish to be made personally responsible for directing a common strategy for our castes, with authority over both of our fleets.”

“Your answer will be read as a statement that you do not trust the barbarian that much.”

“It is only proper that one of us be ultimately responsible for our own safety,” I said.

“Valen would be pleased to hear that his intervention in the last war was improper,” Darshann replied.

There were reasons most of us avoided her where we could.

“Sacrilege will not be dignified with an answer,” I said.

A Worker Satai spoke. “We were told you have an urgent problem?”

I explained the Babylon problem and the impending attack by Earth Force.

“You are ordered to forgive me for being skeptical about the wisdom of granting any barbarian, be he named Sinclair or Sheridan, unconditional support. The blind faith of the Religious caste has not led us to good ends.”

“I support Sheridan because he has developed tactics that allowed us to confront two Shadow ships and survive. I support Sheridan because what he did gave us the first useful intelligence on Shadow capabilities. He deserves our support for doing with us what we could not do alone.”

“If you are wrong about him, Delenn—”

“Then I will die.”

“That will be no comfort to the billions who will die with you.”

“The question is not,” one of the Worker Satai added, “how much faith you have. It is whether your faith is correct.”

“I cannot say she has been wrong so far,” Dasraal replied. “Delenn was correct about ending the war against the Humans, about the wisdom of protecting Sinclair, and—so far—about using Babylon as the ground to train and organize against the Shadows.”

Darshann scoffed. “It has been some time since I have used math professionally but I do remember that three plus two is greater than four. Which is to say that breaking the council is an extreme response given that my Satai and yours could outvote the Warriors without issue.”

Dasraal glared back with a force I had not seen from him in years. “Do you question the role of our caste in interpreting the works of Valen?”

Prophecy required the breaking of the Council, not merely victory through procedure. That was not up for questioning. By anyone.

That was our line in the sand.

We argued, for ten hours.

Eventually, it was resolved that the Workers would secede with us, to grant the Rangers wider rules of engagement, but my position would depend on how the Babylon situation was resolved.

The case marked with the symbols of the triluminary remained closed. What I was given by the Workers, was enough.

* * *

After we had finished with the Workers, I returned to the place that had become my office and briefed Lennier. He asked me what was in the case. I opened it and showed him that it contained a few papers.

“What did they _think_ was in the case?”

“You are learning, Lennier. But, there are some questions you should not ask.”

* * *

Seven walked into the Grey Council chamber. On the left were Darshann and the three Worker Satai. On the right were Dasraal, Masdrenn, and I.

The four Warriors stood motionless in their Council veils.

“What a relief it would be, Religious, to see members of your caste with no more than three faces, to not vote for the impeachment of this freak but continue to support it in private.”

“What a relief it would be for Warriors to have the wisdom not to mistake the fulfilment of prophecy for internal descension,” Masdrenn said.

Prophecy required that I be impeached; as much as that hurt me to suffer it, and for Masdrenn and Dasraal to vote for it, it was required.

“Her barbarian tears did not look much like fulfilment, Religious. Unless, that is, her masochism extends beyond her choice of bedmates, on the kind of beds that are level.”

What prophecy required, was done.

Regardless of the price.

“If you knew anything of sacrifice you would know that pain is a necessary part of it,” I said.

“Only in the minds of those who worship death is sacrifice ever necessary.”

Dasraal pounded the deck with his fighting staff. “We are here to leave. What Valen built, you have abused. No longer. What the Religious and Worker castes have built to fight Shadows, you have prevented us from using. No longer. You refusal to act cost us the life of Dukhat—”

“No! His choice—that you supported—to go to Z'ha'dum cost him his life! If not for the barbarian attack all of us would have been made agents of the Shadows! You are too blinded by your own arroga—”

“Enough. What is past, is past—”

“Religious Hypocrisy! You are the one who mentioned his death!”

“ **Enough.** You have frustrated our efforts for thirty years. No more. We move together, now, because you have left us no choice but to fulfil the prophecy of our faith that you lack the courage to follow. What Valen created, here, is broken.”

We turned to leave.

“Delenn, do not lead your people into this,” Neroon demanded. “Valen's prophecies end here. There is nothing to say they do not lead us to our destruction.”

“It is not your place to question the prophecies of Valen,” I said. “What has been said here, has already been decided. We leave.”

Neroon followed us as we left the council chamber.

“ **What are you hoping to accomplish?** The Shadows can attack anywhere. Fighting them on outsider territory does not protect us. You have fought, Delenn, you know this. You will only provoke them, expand our perimeter, and weaken our forces for the day when the attack does come.”

“ **All life is my cause!** The lives of outsiders matter as much as ours!”

“Then you are a fool and a traitor. And you have murdered all of us.”

Darshann moved herself between me and Neroon. “Do not be in front of me any longer, Neroon.”

Neroon stared at her. “Who are you to tell a Warrior what to do?”

I tensed up. Neroon had not been in the circles of power for enough time to have even the slightest understanding of what he was on the verge of unleashing. One does not challenge the Workers. Ever.

Darshann did not move. “Who are you to challenge those of us who produce the power that keeps even cowards from freezing to death in the dark?”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief as Neroon retreated. He had been given a choice between being dismissed as a coward or defending his honor by killing the leader of the Worker caste, and he had chosen the former. The latter is something not even an enraged young Warrior would attempt.

We returned to the surface with no further disruptions.

* * *

The seven of us met in the somewhat more welcoming circumstances of Darshann's office to decide what would be done next. Outside, the sun was rising over the skyline of Yador.

My companions had expected worse from the confrontation with the Warriors on what remained of the Grey Council. They expected the Warriors would try to kill me.

“I do not think they hate me that much,” I said, speaking from the innocence that came only with comparative youth. Minbari did not, I thought, kill Minbari.

Dasraal and Darshann exchanged knowing glances. Only Darshann spoke.

“The years you have spent away from the home world have not been good for you.”

I was again reminded that I may have fallen back into official favor, but I was still the outsider among leaders with many times my experience.

Masdrenn brushed his hand against mine. Comfort, nothing more.

We collectively agreed to martial the quick reaction forces of our castes to form a defensive blockade one beacon removed from Babylon. The four hundred ships we could provide on short notice ought to be enough, in the way that a hammer ought to be enough to smash a breakfast plate.

“If the barbarians chose to act as barbarians do, it was an opportunity for us to have the experience in battle that you acquired against the Streib. And against the Humans,” the Workers said.

Darshann asked how many living prisoners we wanted, from the Human crews, so their eyeballs could be eaten in the Religious meal of victory over the defeated.

“If Shadows join with Earth, they may well be dining on all of us,” I said.

The room became silent enough to hear breathing.

I explained the need to be more subtle. It was necessary to terrify EarthGov into reversing its policy to invade or destroy Babylon, but it was also vital not to terrify EarthGov into the hands of the Shadows such that they and the Humans moved to do to us what they and the Centauri had done to the Narn.

“I would have never believed I would live to the moment when the great Delenn of Mir rejected Religious traditions of war.”

I was still the youthful outsider, but I did know far more than my years implied.

“The years I have spent away from the home world have been better for all of us than you had thought,” I said. The arrogance escaped me.

It was decided to do things in a way that the Humans would understand. It was decided to terrify EarthForce into retreat instead of striving to kill as many of the attackers as was possible. Violence would be the final resort.

We drafted a joint comuniqué to send, through official channels, to Earth Alliance. Or, more to the point, I drafted it, as I was the only one among the group with any xenodiplomatic experience.

> The Minbari Religious and Worker castes, acting in concert as successor states to the Minbari Federation, noting the deplorable choice of EarthGov to condone xenophobic violence towards Minbari citizens formerly resident on Earth, recalling the recent criminal attacks on our consulates, which have gone unpunished, have lost confidence in the ability of EarthGov to operate the Babylon project in congruence with its declared mission as a neutral place of meeting for all races.

The Religious and Worker castes recognize the Babylon station as an independent state, under its own governance, and consider the preservation of that independence a vital security interest of equal importance to the preservation of our own territorial integrity.

I explained to the others that this was, in the language used by Humans in such matters, the strongest possible warning equal to an explicit threat of force. If the Humans would not abide by it, then they would abide by nothing short of force.

In twenty minutes the message would reach EarthGov. It would be at least forty minutes until we received a response. If we received one at all.

There was nothing more any of us could do unless EarthGov replied.

* * *

The response from EarthGov, once it came, was the sort of thing I have, now, come to expect when professionals are expelled from their roles to make space for those who are incompetent but ideologically suitable.

> The great human people of Earth, under the glorious leadership of our democratically elected President, reject the change of government among the boneheads of Minibar as an illigitimate coupé and refuse to accept any clams of sovereignty over our Baby lon station. Moreover, go fuck yourselves with a sharped spike.

My aides and I were struck dumb for several minutes.

Lennier was the first to speak. “These Humans, I don't understand what is wrong with them. They have either lost their minds or they have become so close to the Shadows that they no longer fear us.”

“I fear the former may be a prelude to the latter,” I replied.

I informed Darshann's aides that there was no prospect of negotiations with the Humans. I needed to say nothing to Dasraal; he trusted my judgement to act in the best interests of our caste, in this matter, without his input.

The Human assault force would reach our blockade in fourteen hours. I decided to sleep for eight.

There was nothing more I could do.

* * *

It was dark when I awoke. I went to the balcony. In the square below were thousands standing in silence, holding in their hands lights in the violet color of the Religious caste. I did not acknowledge them. What I was here to do was not yet finished.

* * *

There were ten minutes of communication lag between the home world and where the confrontation between the EarthGov assault force and our fleet would take place.

There is no easy thing for one of high rank to do in such times. Our fleet was too far removed to be directly commanded: an order received twenty minutes after the events that inspired it is worse than useless. There were reasons not to watch events as a spectator. To do so is to engage in the worst form of voyeurism—to take entertainment from the lives that are being ended. But, there were also reasons to watch: to remain ignorant is to appear callous to the lives that are being ended.

I watched the battle telemetry in silence, with Masdrenn, Dasraal, their aides, and mine.

It was far too easy to overlook that the 458 icons on screen each represented hundreds of lives, each life with hopes, aspirations, dreams, and tens of friends relations who would never be the same again if that life never returned.

This is why Religious leaders prefer to fight from the front, among our own forces: to be sure that we do not forget what it is that we do when we send others into battle.

In the end, Earth Force thought better of attacking when outnumbered 58 to 400. But even that was not enough for them to leave before several tens of nuclear weapons were used in shots of warning.

There were no Shadows with the EarthGov attackers. For which we are all deeply fortunate.

The three of us exchanged embraces. What we had come to do had been done, without harm to anything that was important. Nothing better could be expected.

Some years later I was told that only the two to die were the Earth Force assault commander, who was shot through the head by his subordinate for refusing to order a retreat, and later the subordinate himself, who was tried and executed for treason.

History had made the subordinate aware of what he was facing.

The fifty-eight captains who followed him in retreat remain in prison.

* * *

I returned to the balcony. It was daylight; the lights of our caste had been replaced by triangular flags in the color of our caste. Below me were tens of thousands. I made the sign of the triluminary. The trust they placed in me was a responsibility I accepted.

The tens of thousands left the square in silence, leaving behind no indication that they had ever been present.

* * *

There were more meetings with the Workers, to finalize an agreement between our castes to consolidate our efforts to fight the Shadows. It was agreed that I would be given sole right to organize our affairs with outsiders for the duration of the Shadow war, in part on the grounds that Darshann would prefer not to sully her nose with the smell of outsiders.

Sometimes the most significant of decisions are made for the most petty of reasons.

Sometimes the most petty of reasons are excuses to save honor.

The next day I led a ceremony of rebirth at the main temple of our caste. It was, in Human terms, a celebration of our independence from the Warriors. But, it was also a wake. All of us who were adult knew the independence we had won was the independence to die fighting Shadows so that others may live.

The children did not know. I had to look them in their eyes, as their hands felt my hair and they asked what it was, and tell them that they had much to look forward to when they experienced their own ceremonies of rebirth; all while believing that none of them would survive to the point in their lives when that experience would come.

I gave my aides three days off to use as they saw fit. There were friends and family to see, often for the first time in many years, but always for the last time until the Shadows forced us all to live where they do not fall.

There are no family I speak to, then as now.

I used my time to tell entil'zha Sinclair what he should have been told long before, because the opportunity might never come again. And then I paid my respects at the memorials of those who had been close to me.

Dukhat.

And my father.

And then I flew a flyer into orbit to return to my White Star, passing high over the city I never expected to see again.

Because I expected to die fighting Shadows—or for my home world to be destroyed by them—not because I ever imagined that what I had started, here, would bring to an end the civilization we had built.

But that is where we were, now.

* * *

I walked into the featureless, windowless, room that was now Dasraal’s office, in the bunker that stood under what was once our capital building, and stopped within three paces of him.

I made the sign of the triluminary and waited—not long—for him to motion for me to speak.

“I have been too distant to know much of this war, beyond what has been said officially,” I said. “But I am here to end what I have started.”

Dasraal looked at me as he did when he believed my ideas reached insanity. And then he looked at me with the sadness of a million dead in his eyes.

“Delenn, no,” he said. “In so many ways, no. Do not hold yourself responsible for this. I will not allow it.”

I stopped myself from demanding to know why I was not, in his mind, responsible. It was a sign that I had been with Humans for far too long that I even imagined such openness from my own culture. Understanding was not required; only obedience.

“The Warriors have demanded your death. They fear what our people see in your accomplishments against the Shadows, and they do not want you to leverage what you have done into power. They want you dead. They want to see your severed head paraded through the streets. That is their price for peace. I will not give them that victory, in part because none of this is your fault,” Dasraal said.

I stopped myself from demanding to know why I had not been told of the Warrior price for peace. I had been away for too long to internalize my manners, but not long enough to forget them.

But, now I knew the cost of peace... I summoned the power in my voice that I had not used since I was Satai, when Dasraal and I had last argued. “One life for many—”

“You were not told,” he said, ignoring me, “because I knew you would come here and sacrifice yourself. The Warriors do not deserve the precedent your sacrifice would set.”

“At what price? The destruction of our caste? No. I will not watch the culture which _made_ me burn on a pyre to preserve a life of mine that _would not be worth living_ in the shadows of a billion dead. A million people died under me at Corianna 6, Dasraal. I will not be the cause that sends more to die.”

My leader sighed at me, with either contempt or sadness, will never know. We stared at the other in an agonizing silence.

I could not help but think of Dasraal as ungrateful.

I had returned, prepared to offer my ultimate sacrifice for the survival of my caste, only to be rebuffed by my caste leader without even full consideration.

My true feelings, I dared not voice.

It was not my place.

Where was my place anymore?

It was one thing to make an impulsive decision to solve the war between my caste and the Warriors; it had become quite another to put myself into a position to solve it.

Dasraal finally spoke: “The Universe is not as simple as you believe. What assurances do we have from the Warriors that they will stop if you sacrifice yourself? None. What assurances that they will not demand more? None. What you want to do will not work.”

“Surely that can be made to understand that the betrayal of an oath, to end the war in exchange for my life, would be the line at which you would order our starships to bomb them,” I said.

“You should have stayed away as I instructed, Delenn. The Warriors might have been willing to accept your exile, but for you to be here in soul and body...they will not be satisfied with anything short of your death. I will not give you to them. And that will mean the death of all of us.”

“Then what, my senior, are we to do?”

He had no answer to give me.

What was I missing to not understand how things could have become this bad?

If this was my home, then I no longer understood it.

* * *

I found myself on the doorstep of the safehouse where Masdrenn was in hiding from the violence of the Warriors. How I knew he was there is something I will not explain. How I got there undetected is something I will say only involved a painfully long walk through the waist-deep water of a nearly frozen underground river. Valen thank the inventor of the drysuit.

I pounded on the door with my fist. Three times.

Masdrenn's housekeeper answered.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

I pulled back my hood just enough to expose my hair.

The bitter cold of the winter air stung the exposed skin around my face.

“I suppose you should come in, entil'zha Delenn.”


End file.
